


Necessary Warmth

by art_by_daphneblithe, DumpsterDiving101



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Chronic Illness, Coffee Shops, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fae & Fairies, Falling In Love, Feels, Fluff, Frostbite, Healers, Hurt/Comfort, Ice Powers, Illnesses, Lies, Lying about illness, M/M, Magic, Manhandling, Modern Steve Rogers, Nature Magic, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Nymphs & Dryads, POV Alternating, POV Bucky Barnes, POV Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Road Trips, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-20 04:25:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19369693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/art_by_daphneblithe/pseuds/art_by_daphneblithe, https://archiveofourown.org/users/DumpsterDiving101/pseuds/DumpsterDiving101
Summary: Steve is the last of a dying breed, an ice nymph living in isolation, doing everything he can to help those around him. When a man with a metal arm comes crashing into his life, he takes it upon himself to do everything in his power to help him. When Hydra comes lurking, that means leaving his hometown for the first time in his life and risking everything for the adventure of a lifetime.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for the Captain America Reverse Big Bang 2019 with artist daphneblithe and beta shinynewpenny! This was a rough project to do, not gonna lie, but all in all I had fun and loved working with both of these amazing people. A million thanks to shinynewpenny for all of her help with storyplanning and editing, and an additional hundred thousand thanks for putting up with me and my weird schedule. 
> 
> Thanks for the story inspiration daphneblithe! I hope you like how it turned out. Everyone who’s reading, make sure to give her lots of love for her amazing art!
> 
> Enjoy the story!

 

 

 

 

**Steve**  
  


 Steve’s toes were black with frostbite. He wiggled them, testing for the umpteenth time that they still worked. They did. They didn’t even really hurt, they were just… black. 

 It had happened a few weeks ago, and Steve had properly panicked then. He’d seen this before plenty of times, knew what it was, knew what it meant. He’d done everything in his power to make it better, used every herb, every soak, every remedy he could think of. He became nearly obsessed with it. He started wearing thick, woolen socks so he’d stop getting distracted by the diseased apendenge in the early hours of the morning, when he was already prone to losing his facilities in favor of staring at nothing at all. Steve had never been much of a hypochondriac, not even when he was first learning the names for the diseases that would wipe him and his people off the map, but now he couldn’t help but think the worst. Frostbite only resulted from extreme cold. It could be linked to hypothermia, or trench foot. The symptoms were numerous, and for a few days, Steve was convinced he had them all. 

 But then… nothing happened. 

 He tried not to pick at his toes, wrapped as they were, but he couldn’t help but check their progress. They were still there, still shaped correctly, still black as death, but they didn’t seem to be getting any worse. Or any better, for that matter. They were just there, like one day his woodland DNA had kicked in and decided  _ you know what? We’re giving you hoofs.  _

 Nothing happened, so after a few panic-filled days, Steve managed to stop feeling quite so horrified. He continued attending to his patients, continued tending to his garden and mixing his blends. He wasn’t even that scared. 

 And then the frostbite spread. 

 It had probably happened a few days ago, but in Steve’s defense, he was busy! He had more important things to attend to than his own body. The black marks didn’t even look that bad; they were black, sure, which wasn’t the ideal skin pigment for someone as stinkin’ pale as he was, but the actual skin was still firm. Frostbite usually ate away at tissue, but Steve showed no sign of tissue damage. It just… it didn’t make sense. He was a healer, he was supposed to know this crap, he just…

 Didn’t. 

 And now it was his own body on the line. 

 Steve pressed at one of the black spots under his knee. It could almost be a bruise, except Steve would remember hitting his leg so hard the bruise turned black. That sort of thing didn’t just happen casually. And, if it were a bruise, he’d feel it. The skin just felt numb, like the nerve endings were beginning to die.

 When he tapped his finger against the blackened skin again, he made a face. A thin layer of frost had begun to build up. It was either his body’s own futile attempt to heal via cryotherapy, or, on the darker side of the coin, it could be the reason for the frostbite in the first place. As an ice nymph, Steve knew he radiated cold. Maybe today was the day that he stopped radiated it outwards, and started radiating it  _ inwards.  _ Maybe he was doing this to himself. 

 There was a cough in the other room and Steve panicked, hunching forwards and kicking his leg out from underneath him. He was too on edge to deal with normal patients today, much less this one, but… he didn’t have a choice. He knew the severity of the wounds that man had suffered. He needed Steve, and Steve needed to help him. He would just… have to put his own issues on the back burner. 

 Finally regaining some semblance of grace, Steve yanked his socks back on, pulling them all the way up to his knees. They didn’t go past that, and a small blotch of black could still be seen. Steve found himself stuck staring at it again— that was him, that was  _ his skin—  _ but forced himself to move on. Priorities. He’d had those, once. 

 Steve stood, letting his thick, rabbitskin pants fall down. They weren’t the right size, but he’d mended them as best he could. Tough and water resistant on the outside and filled with soft fur on the inside, they were the pair he usually wore for comfort. Now he’d probably get blood on them. However, he couldn’t find it inside himself to care enough to make the man outside wait. 

 He crept along the stone walls, walking on the balls of his feet. Another cough rung out, aggressive and pained. Steve had once winced at the sound, but that had been decades ago. Steve was used to the sounds of sickness by now. They filled his home, his head, and his dreams, and he no longer cringed away. 

 He slipped through the doorway into his living room. He should probably rename it, as most of the people who ended up in this room were dying, not living. Yes, he’d rename it. Right after…

 The man was still laying on the floor, hacking up a storm. He was on his side, the blanket kicked away to reveal mounds of mangled flesh. Less mangled, what with the bandages, but bandaging a bruise or a scar was futile, leaving his skin a wasteland of greens and browns and blues. He could be pretty, if he were contained in a painting rather than Steve’s living room. He’d be one of Leo’s paintings:  _ Monster On It’s Deathbed.  _ The ‘monster’ part could be explained by the colors, the matted hair, and of course, the metal appendage. Steve had never read this fairytale before. 

 The man started coughing again, and Steve couldn’t just stand there and watch. He rushed forwards and the man stopped, muscles visibly contracting. Steve couldn’t see his face past the curtain of hair, but he could see his mouth. Maybe the word ‘creature’ was more accurate, because the expression on the man’s face wasn’t one that Steve had seen on anything but a wolf. 

  
  


————————

  
  


**Bucky**

  
  


The Asset, the  _ James Buchanan Barnes,  _ was awake. It— he— it was awake. It was in a cool structure, likely naturally made, but perhaps human made. Stone walls, stone floor, stone ceiling. Stone ceiling. Rock can provide adequate structural support, but in the case of collapse, likelihood of survival is low. 

 Survival is ideal. 

 The Asset is damaged. The Asset remembers how it acquired such damage. The Asset  _ remembers.  _ The procedure had gone wrong, the formula had failed, the electricity had hurt, but for once, it hadn’t made him stop thinking. It hadn’t made the eyes of his mind go white. And then there’d been the fight. There’d been a gun. Support. A target. A target. A man in metal.  _ You’ve shaped the century. And now I need you to do it one last time.  _

__ He’d fought the man in the metal, which was how he obtained approximately 33% of his injuries. Then the man had collapsed a roof in on the Asset, and his handlers had to dig him out, but until then, the Asset, the  _ James Buchanan Barnes,  _ had been stuck with nothing to do but think. 

_ Traitor! He was your friend, and you killed him. Do you even remember him? His name was Howard, and he had a wife and a— a son— and you killed him! I know who you are, take off the fucking mask. I know who you are. James Buchanan Barnes, I know who you are! Take off the fucking mask!  _

__ The wipe had failed. The Asset didn’t remember everything. But… he did remember. 

_ Subject is showing high tolerance to primary means of recalibration. More voltage needed. Trial two, initiated.  _

__ The whiteness didn’t come. The whiteness didn’t come. 

_  More voltage needed. Trial three, initiated.  _

_  Any more and you’ll fry him.  _

_ Well, what do you expect me to do? He needs to be wiped. The healing factor is preventing it. We must decrease his healing factor— _

_  Trial four, initiated.  _

__ After that, they removed the machine. They kept the Asset confined to the chair.  _ Soldat, report.  _

_  Soldat, report.  _

_  Soldat— _

_  Ready to comply.  _

_  Good. Hose him down, and then let medical have a look at him. We want him back in the field in three hours, maximum. We need— _

__ And then the Asset had crushed his windpipe. 

 He remembered the fight. Remembered how goddamn horrible it was. Every flash of pain hurt more, every impact ran through his body like electricity. Some of it was electricity. His handlers were big fans of electricity; it didn’t leave marks like other punishments. 

 Impact, impact, pain, punch, dodge, weapon, weapon, shot, ow, ow—  _ The Asset doesn’t feel pain—  _ block, hit, hit, kick, squeeze—

 And then he ran. 

 The base was small, just a little field setup for the sake of wiping and containing him. The Asset had fought them, but he’d been sloppy. There were survivors, there must have been survivors. He had a head start, but they’d be chasing him. They’d call for reinforcements. They’d find him—

 He was interrupted by a bout of coughing. His throat was swollen and raw, and the broken ribs made his body lurch and shudder with each explosive convulsion. Injury assessment: swollen throat; broken ribs, right 5, 6, and 7; shoulder injury, not dislocation, potential tear? Others: facial distress, back pain, hip soreness. Ache in the knee. Ache in the lungs. Ache  _ everywhere.  _

__ He started coughing again. A little noise, the slightest friction of foot brushing floor, informed him of his company and he stopped, breathing hard. Hydra? This wasn’t that base. Maybe they’d just found him? Or maybe this was somewhere new. A new place to wipe him, hose him, punish him. And then— and then—

_ James Buchanan Barnes.  _

__ No. He wouldn’t let it happen. He was— he was remembering things, things from days ago, past missions. A man’s face, brown hair, trimmed mustache, unimpressed eyes.  _ What? I promised a flying car, didn’t I?  _

_  Howard, that’s a plane. _

_  Is it? Can a plane do this?  _

__ The Asset, the James, would not be captured again. 

 Unfortunately, his body didn’t seem to agree with this sentiment. A scrape at the back of his throat caused him to start hacking again, too busy expelling air to bother taking any in, and then there was a hand on his back, rubbing circles. He couldn’t even stop the coughing to see the figure, couldn’t focus enough to make out any characteristics except  _ cold.  _ Cold, cold. Fucking cold. 

_ Why couldn’t this war be closer to the equator? I wanted kids, you bastard. How am I supposed to do that with my balls frozen off?  _

__ Howard had laughed at that.  _ Sounds like a you-problem. Besides, kids are obnoxious. I sure as hell ain’t having any.  _

_  Bullshit. With as many skirts as you chase? I’m surprised you don’t have half a dozen already.  _

__ The hand pressed firmer against his back, and finally the coughs subsided. Unable to hold himself up, the Asset let himself be lowered to the ground by the firm, but cold hands. He’d… he’d fight. He’d get away. Hydra didn’t own him anymore. Hydra didn’t own him anymore. But first… but first… first he’d sleep. 

  
  


—————————

  
  


 The Asset woke up to the feeling of hands on his body. He lurched upward, then immediately forced his body back down. He was supposed to be still, compliant—

 The boy jumped backward, his hands raised in surrender. “I was just changing your bandages!” He defended, which was… not something handlers were supposed to do. Even the techs didn’t talk like that, not if they wanted to keep a job. Hydra didn’t allow that type of weakness. 

 The Asset closed it’s— his— it’s eyes, laying back. It— he wasn’t with Hydra anymore. He’d escaped, and now he was somewhere where he wasn’t restrained, and this clearly untrained— civilian?— was performing medical maintenance. Why would he do that? What did he have to gain? The  _ James Buchanan Barnes _ was done obeying orders. He— it wouldn’t allow it— himself— to be controlled— taken advantage of—

 “Hey,” the guy whispered, and he was closer now, how was he closer? “Be careful. Don’t strain yourself. I’m just going to finish changing this bandage now, okay? Sorry, my hands are a little chilly.” 

 He pressed his hands to the Asset’s skin, and he grunted, squeezing his eyes shut. His hands weren’t just ‘chilly’, they were  _ cold,  _ almost abnormally so, like he’d just taken them out of the freezer. 

 A bandage was tightened, and then The Asset could feel the boy shuffle closer. He was on his knees to the Asset’s right. Potential defense: attack with right arm, low power, high accuracy; roll and attack with left arm, high power, moderate accuracy; bring leg up to force target into a pin/headlock—

 “Hold this for me?” 

 The Asset opened his eyes to find the boy hovering over him, smiling pleasantly. He was incredibly pale, with dark freckles across his nose and fluffy blonde hair. His smile grew when The Asset made eye contact, and he directed The Asset’s left hand to take a little rubbery ball. 

 “Thanks. I’m just going to fix the bandage on your shoulder. Feel free to squeeze that ball if it’s uncomfortable.” 

The Asset squeezed his eyes shut and his fist closed in unison as the boy moved his shoulder. The pain was horrible— how did he not notice this before? It stung like an open wound, all the way down to the bone, but burned like paprika had been rubbed into it. And, besides that, it felt stiff and frigid, like someone had scooped road slush into the wound and packed it tight. The boy had said to squeeze the ball if it was uncomfortable, and he’d seemed to believe that the ball wouldn’t break, but suddenly the Asset wasn’t so sure. 

 The boy pushed the bandage back into place and the pressure made the pain ease. The Asset exhaled, shaky and forceful. 

 “There we go. It’s looking good, no signs of infection anywhere. I’m going to help you sit up, and then how about some water? Or tea? I can make tea.”

 The boy dragged a large wedge over, helping The Asset sit up against it. It was comfortable, especially against his sore back. He exhaled again. 

 The wedge was good. The blanket the boy tucked around him was good. The tea was very, very good. The lodging they were in was currently unoccupied by any other lifeforms, and the boy was no threat. The Asset had not yet lost. 

—————————

  
  


**Steve**

  
  


Steve wasn’t used to someone staying in his house for so long. Usually, when someone was sick or injured, they had Steve come to them. Sometimes they brought the person to Steve, but they’d only stay with him for a few hours before being carried home. But this man didn't seem to have anyone, and if he did, he didn’t ask for them. 

Steve had felt the man’s body break through the ice a mile away from his cave, and when he’d gone to check on him, had found him unconscious, bleeding, and half covered in snow. He was also armed to the teeth, and by the looks of him, he knew how to use the weapons. Steve had dragged him home, cleaned him up, disarmed him, and waited. But, when he awoke, he had no questions. He didn’t seem in a rush to do anything but heal. 

 Steve cooked for him and changed his bandages, checking everything and keeping especially close tabs on his shoulder wound. It appeared to be some sort of stab wound, and Steve had to use his powers to bind the area back together. He’d packed it as full of herbs and his own snow as he could manage, holding his hands over the wound to make sure the injury understood what it needed to do, but there was something blocking the healing. All of his other wounds were healing faster than usual, but the shoulder was taking longer. 

 It didn’t matter. Steve would continue freezing it as long as he needed to. That’d keep the shoulder usable, at least. No other damage could occur with that area so firmly frozen. And until it was better, Steve could cook for him and keep him healthy and safe. It was the least he could do, the very least; this man had been hurt by the world, and though Steve didn’t know how or why, he knew it was his injustice. And it was his job, as a spirit of the world, to fix that. 

 However, that wasn’t the only injustice he was in charge of. So while the man slept, Steve tiptoed around him to get to the kitchen. He had a system of underground heating that ran beneath the cave that allowed him to make fires he didn’t have to tend, so his pot of broth was still hot on the stove. He’d need to go to the butcher soon to get more bones for it, but that wasn’t a pressing issue. Steve poured out a few jars of the stuff, then went outside to the lake to get more water for it. 

 The lake was frozen over, but it allowed itself to be shifted enough for a small pool of water to form. Steve filled his bucket, careful not to touch the water himself and freeze it again, and brought it back inside. He added the water to the broth pot so it’d continue to stew, and then went to his garden to get more clippings.

A seasonal flu was going around, plus the regular injuries and illnesses that came with their surroundings, so Steve prepared for such. Some herbs needed to be used fresh, while others were more potent dry. It had taken a long time to learn which was which, but Steve  _ had  _ learned. 

 He checked on his charge one more time before leaving. He was still breathing fine, a little loud due to his broken ribs, but no different than it had been. Besides that, the main thing Steve was worried about was his fever. He showed no signs of a fever besides his body temperature, but his body temperature alone was too high, almost worryingly so. But again, that had been the baseline the past few days, so Steve trusted that it was safe enough to leave. 

 He trekked through the snow to get to the main village. He would’ve preferred to live closer, but they didn’t like nymphs in their community, and besides, he’d always lived in that cave. There’d once been dozens of others, an interconnected network of nymphs and other nature spirits, but that was a long time ago, and it didn’t matter anymore. Now, it was Steve. He was responsible for caring for the injustices of the world, and he could handle it. 

 The first house Steve checked in with was the Oedipan’s. They were an older couple with children out of the house, and Mrs. Oedipan had an unsettlingly weak immune system. Sure enough, she had the flu. Steve treated her, and while questioning her on where she thought she may have gotten it from, learned that the May’s daughter, Lily, was sick. So, after tucking Mrs. Oedipan into bed and letting himself out, Steve went to the May’s house and took care of her. Her mother was deeply unsettled by the illness, but rejected his offer for tea. It was her loss; Steve’s tea was good, and his companionship was better. He did find out that she had a bad case of chilblains, and managed to convince her to let him tend to them before she kicked him out. 

 He went around like that, going from house to house based on rumors and off-handed mentions. No one wanted tea, and only the ones already bedridden were willing to accept help without issue. One middle aged man, a Mr.Eiseman, complained loudly when his wife let Steve into his bedroom to check on him. “Marge, I told you to stop accepting his help! It only encourages him.”

 “I heard you’re struggling with the flu,” Steve said, knowing immediately that this would not be a house he’d be able to dawdle in. “Have you noticed any chest pressure or shortness of breath?”

 “No, and don’t come near me, you’ll only make it worse! There’s a reason I’m in bed, not laying in a snowbank! Your cold will only make me sicker!”

 “Actually sir, proximity to cold doesn’t have any effect on this disease.” Steve paused. “And you live in the North Pole.”

 “Ohhh no,” the man accused, pointing a bony finger towards Steve. “You’re not going to trick me with your elf magic. I may be sick, but I’m not senile!”

 “I’m not an elf,” Steve explained calmly at the same time as Marge said “Don’t you want to get better?”

 Her husband looked at her like she’d just sided with the enemy. “I do. And I’ll get better in my own damn time, the way God intended.”

 “Those are some pretty bad chilblains,” Steve noted, staring at the knuckles of his hand that had landed to rest on top of his bed covers. “I have something for that. It won’t take any time, and then they’ll stop itching.”

 “Ha! You just try, and see how far you get. I dare you.”

 Steve narrowed his eyes, hand tightening on his satchel. This man… dared him? “You’re sick. In bed,” Steve noted, like the man might have forgotten. “And you want to… challenge me?” 

 “No,” Marge said quickly. “Harold is just being stubborn. Thank you for your help, but I think we’ve decided we don’t require your services. You may leave now.”

 Steve tilted his head. “Those chilblains won’t go away for nearly three weeks. Until then, they’ll be red and itchy and uncomfortable.” As Steve spoke, he dug around in his bag, feeling for the smaller, leaner bottle. He uncapped it and pulled a few dried herbs out, dropping the jar back in his bag as he began to crush the herbs in his palm. 

 Mr.May scoffed. “Then I’ll handle it like my kind have always handled it; with my head held high and without the help of  _ your kind.” _

__ Steve spat in his hand, mixing it with the herbal blend. “My kind?”

 The man didn’t respond. He just met Steve’s eyes, like he knew they both understood what he meant. His eyes were glazed, nose runny, face flushed. 

 “Just try and use your witchcraft,” the man challenged,  _ again.  _ “Just see what’ll happen.”

 Steve moved forwards, silent on his feet as he felt the mixture in his hand reach the right consistency, the herbs fully integrated. “Chilblains take longer to go away, at your age,” he said quietly, scraping the mixture into a tiny jar. “As does the flu. If left untreated, it can lead to worse symptoms and ear infection, and if complications occur, it can lead to inflammation or organ failure.” Steve pulled the last few objects out of his bag, carefully balancing them in his hands. He looked over to Marge, meeting her gaze. “I trust you will inform me if any of that happens.” Then, resettling his satchel strap over his shoulder, he carefully placed the container of ointment along with a bag of herbs that should work to remedy the man’s flu, and an extra jar of broth on the table. “You have a nice day, Mr.May,” he said softly. “And I sincerely hope you return to full health as soon as possible.”

 The man stayed silent, bitter, but Steve didn’t wait for a reaction. He turned, and on his way out of the house gave Marge quick advice on using the herbs, and made sure to settle another still-warm jar of broth in her hands. He smiled at her genuinely. “And you have a nice day too. I see your hands are a little discolored as well; feel free to use some of your husband’s medicine, of course, but if you need more you can always drop by, no matter the time. We can have tea.”

 She didn’t say anything either, and he didn’t wait. He simply tugged his coat closer to his body and went back into the cold. 

  
  


——————————

  
  


 When he got back home, he tugged off his boots and, in a moment of impulse, tugged down his socks. Some of the patches of frostbite on his upper shins had lightened, doubtlessly from the herbs he’d rubbed in the night prior, and even though they weren’t better, it was something. He smiled, pulled his socks back up, and went to go check on his charge. 

 The man was awake this time, which was good. He was laying on the couch, half bundled under a blanket like a disgruntled teddy bear. Steve went to the kitchen and fixed him a bowl of broth, decided what the hay, and cut up a carrot for it. His weekly supply was already pretty low, but for the man’s immune system to go back to normal he’d need vitamins. Steve had herbs he could use as supplements, of course, but it wasn’t the same as good old fashioned vegetables. 

 The man watched him as he re-entered the living room. Whenever he was awake, he watched Steve like a dog who sensed that someone was hiding food from them. He still hadn’t spoken, but that was fine. He didn’t need to speak to be taken care of; Steve had a strict no-exclusions-apply principle. 

 “Here you are,” Steve said quietly, handing him the bowl. “Is it hot enough?”

 The man disregarded the spoon already balanced in the bowl to sip directly from the side. He pulled back, making a face. 

 “Too hot,” Steve interpreted. He took the bowl back from him, holding it as he willed his hands to chill, and gradually, the steam tapered off. “There we go.”

 The man didn’t seem too sure about that, but Steve knew that he’d seen his powers before, so really, he shouldn’t be surprised. “Drink up. Just be careful not to choke, I added carrots this time.” The man picked up a carrot with his spoon, looking it over analytically before eating it. Steve wasn’t exactly able to interpret his expression, but he went to scoop up another, so he determined it a success. “Nice,” Steve laughed. “Next time, I’ll add some meat for you too.”

 “Meat is sufficient to meet calorie requirements,” the man muttered, not looking up. “Other alternatives include protein shakes and liquid food supplements. They are also more cost efficient.” 

 Steve hadn’t expected him to say anything, but he tried to hide his surprise. He smiled. “Yeah, but I bet they don’t taste as good.”

 The man looked up now, eyebrows pinching together. “Tasting good. Is irrelevant.”

 “Tasting good is completely relevant,” Steve argued, hoping he didn’t frustrate the man. “The most relevant. I’d rather be fat and happy than sickly and miserable.”

 The man’s frown deepened, but he didn’t argue. He went back to his broth. 

 Steve mentally prepared himself for this next part. Now that the man was speaking, he needed to ask. “What’s your name?”

 The frown stayed the same— it probably couldn’t deepen anymore— but the man blinked a few times. “James Buchanan Barnes.”

 “That’s a nice name,” Steve said, softly, like he was speaking to a wild animal. Or maybe like he was just speaking to a very sick man who sounded very unsure of his own name. “Can I call you James?”

 “Bucky,” the man interrupted, almost before Steve was done speaking. In a series of jerky movements, he looked up, met Steve’s eyes, pointedly looked away, and darted his chin down again. It was like a nod, but different. 

 “Bucky,” Steve repeated, testing to see how the name tasted. It tasted fine. Sounded nice too; two syllables, none of which blended together. Distinct. It suited him, at least; the man, Bucky, was certainly distinct. “And, um, I’ve said it before, but you can call me whatever you like. I prefer Steve, though. He/him.”

 The last part seemed to confuse Bucky, if his pause in spooning broth was anything to go by, but he managed another jerky nod. “Okay.”

 He didn’t offer his own pronouns. Steve wasn’t surprised; few people did, but it was important to him that he always make it accessible. Since Bucky didn’t add his own pronouns, Steve could go ahead and continue assuming he was a man, based on his voice, physical features in general, and the specific shape of his underwear when Steve had stripped him down to tend to his wounds earlier. He was James Buchanan Barnes, Bucky for short, he/him, and he liked carrots. Steve was learning so much already.  _ And,  _ Bucky didn’t think that flavor was important, which meant Steve had a duty to prove him wrong.

 “Can I get you some tea?” He asked when Bucky was done with the broth. He nodded again, so Steve took his bowl and scurried to get two mugs. He’d made a new recipe for a soothing, chamomile-lavender mix a few weeks ago, but so far no one but him had wanted to try it. Now was his chance. He added extra honey into Bucky’s— another extravagance that Bucky definitely deserved— and brought it out, going as fast as he could without spilling any. “You’ll have to tell me how you like it,” Steve said, making sure to give Bucky the extra sweet one. “I made the blend myself.”

 Bucky immediately put his entire attention onto the tea, taking his time sipping and considering it. Finally, he announced, almost like a report, “It’s good. Smells like a window box. Lavender? And sweet. Maybe sugar. Tree sap? Not tree sap.”

 Steve wasn’t sure what to make of ‘window box’, but he nodded, agreeing. “Not tree sap. I think what you’re talking about is the, uh, honey.”

 “Yes, honey.” Bucky’s ducked his face behind his mug, hiding his grin. “Sorry. Sorry.”

 Steve smiled, a little confused. “It’s okay. I don’t really get the joke, though.”

 Steve watched him think about it. Usually, when this happened people didn’t explain the joke to him, leading him to believe it was probably at his expense. But eventually, Bucky explained: “It’s like. A name, a… pet name. Like sugar. Darling. Baby. Like… that. Sorry. It was a joke. A bad one.”

 “Oh!” Steve said, and laughed, maybe a little more than the situation called for. “Now I get it! No, it’s a good joke. It’s funny!”

 Bucky hid another smile behind his mug, purposefully looking away. Steve decided that was probably his cue to leave. Bucky must be tired, and he wouldn’t want to keep talking to Steve anyways, not when Steve didn’t know his jokes and was probably making his legs cold. “I’ll get you broth with meat next time,” he promised. “And more of that tea with lots of honey. Or if you want, I could get you a better type. I know this one’s different, it’s okay if you don’t like—”

 “I liked it,” Bucky interrupted, hiding his face again. “It was good.”

 “Oh. Okay. Then I’ll… do more of this.” Steve’s cheeks felt a little warm, which was unusual for an ice nymph. He hurried in taking Bucky’s bowl and getting out of the room. Bucky could have all the tea and carrots and meat and honey he wanted; he could have all of it in the world. Steve would bake him something, something fancy and delicious and rich and tasty, teach him that flavor matters. Yes, that’s what he’d do. He’d need more supplies, but when he got them, that’s what he’d do. 

  
  


—————————

  
  


**Bucky**

  
  


Steve was difficult to track because his footsteps were almost silent. He didn’t even seem to do it on purpose. Maybe it was because of the socks he wore all the time, Bucky decided. Not that he could blame him. The floor was fucking cold, which was the main thing that deterred Bucky from getting up from the couch. 

 Regardless, he knew better than to stay idle, trusting Steve in his every move. So when Steve left to go who-knows-where with his little man-purse, Bucky made himself get up and look around. He had a general layout for the place already, but he found the indoor garden and another room that must have been Steve’s bedroom, along with a few tunnels that had been filled in with rock. His stomach twisted a little at the reminder of the roof crashing in on him, but he made himself keep walking. 

 The floor of the cave was cold, but it was nothing compared to the snow outside. Normal people could only go a few minutes walking in the snow without acquiring significant damage, and even the Asset had never been forced to walk in snow for more than a half hour. But he knew he wouldn’t be outside for that long, so he stepped out. 

 It was significantly worse than he anticipated. The Bucky Thing found himself ankle deep in watery, fresh powder, regretting everything, but he pushed on. He did a quick loop around the cave, and then a wider one, checker for any signs of recent movement or surveillance. There were none, and even Steve's footprints had been wiped away by the snow, rolling and twisting with the soft wind. 

 Bucky’s eyes caught on the sunset. He had spent a lot of time looking at various sunsets, in various countries and across various times. No matter how much he hurt, no matter how much he bled, no matter how many times the pain burned through him and he came back a gray slate, wiped clean but still tainted-- no matter what, he always returned to the sunset. It had been a few days since he'd last seen it. He felt like he'd unintentionally betrayed a close friend. 

 His ears picked up the slightest sound of movement and he tensed, before relaxing at the voice calling “Bucky! You're outside, that's great! I’m glad you found your boots--”  _ one… two… three…  _ Steve gasped. “Bucky! James Buchanan Barnes, what are you doing out here in  _ bare feet _ , you're going to break your toes off--” 

 Bucky smiled as Steve hustled him inside, his lack of strength made up for in persistence. Bucky couldn’t be mad, though; the second he got back inside, his feet seemed to sigh with relief. He hadn't realized how much the cold hurt. 

 Steve hustled him into the living room, settling him on the floor by the fireplace before running to retrieve something. Bucky sat where he was told to sit, staying still as Steve came back, continuing to click at him for being dumb. “You don’t appreciate your toes until they're gone,” he snapped, then all but shoved a mug of tea in Bucky’s hands. This was a new type, but still sweet. Mmmm. Bucky tried to hide his enjoyment. It was hard. The tea was good. 

 Finally, Steve knelt by Bucky's side, taking a warm washcloth to his feet. He was just… kneeling on the floor, the stone floor, not caring about his own comfort one bit. It wasn’t… it wasn’t right. Steve should care about his comfort a lot. It should be the most important thing to him. He should always be comfortable. 

 Bucky leaned back, grabbing a pillow while remaining conscientious about holding his feet still. Not holding still resulting in punishment. Except. Except. 

 Not from Steve. 

 Bucky dismissed this course of thought. He shoved the pillow at Steve, not stopping until Steve gave in and sat on top of it, seeming much more comfortable now. Good. Mission: success. If the Punk was too goddamn stubborn to take care of his own goddamn self, then The Bucky Thing could watch out for him. He'd make sure the Punk was cozy if it was the last thing he did.

 The washcloth was good for Bucky's feet. They were very red, and the washcloth made them slightly less saturated. Steve was careful to only touch the Bucky-thing’s skin with the washcloth, not his hands. Bucky knew why. But. He still wanted to ask. 

 “Why are you so cold?” 

 “Sorry. I’ll try to stop.”

 The Bucky-Thing blinked. That’s not what he meant. “No. Just… wondering.”

 Steve flushed. He kept his eyes trained on his task as he answered, “I'm an ice nymph. It's not a big deal.”

 What? “What?”

 “An ice nymph. It's like a forest or water nymph, but with ice.” Steve frowned at him. “Don't you have those where you came from?”

 Bucky didn't even know where he ‘came from’, a lot less what type of fauna it had. But, if his limited memories were to be trusted-- which they probably weren't, oops-- then Bucky didn't remember any ‘nymphs’. 

 Steve sighed. “We're nature spirits. We used to be tied to our realms, like dryads that could never leave their trees, but over time we evolved. And, for the record, I haven't traveled very far but I do know that we're everywhere. You should've paid more attention back home.”

 Something in Bucky's head ticked. “I don't have a home.” 

 “What?”

 The Bucky-thing tapped on his skull a few times to see if it'd help. “Don't have a home. Only a base. Escaping was against protocol, so I don't have that either. Also. There weren't any tree-people.” 

 Steve's frown deepened. He'd stopped rubbing the warm washcloth over Bucky's feet, and even though they were warmer now, the Bucky-thing still wished he'd continue. 

_ Not mission compliant.  _

__ “You lived on a base?” Steve questioned, slowly putting things together. “Protocol… you were a soldier, weren't you. And you… escaped?”

 He wasn't  _ a  _ soldier, he was  _ the  _ soldier, but he nodded anyways. 

 Steve's scowl, somehow, deepened even further. Fascinating. “We're going to need more tea.”

  
  


\-------------------

  
  


**Steve**

  
  


 Steve grew used to spending time with Bucky. Despite his quiet tendencies, he was good company, and he never complained when Steve replaced his bandages or gave him a fresh round of ointment, despite the fact that it had to hurt. Every other night, Steve had to refresh the ice in Bucky’s shoulder, which he knew was less than pleasant. The ice was enchanted, and would allow him to continue using his shoulder in a semi-normal capacity, significant-exertion excluded. But Bucky never complained. He didn’t seem bothered by Steve’s cold touch, though it got his attention. He didn’t throw anything at Steve. He didn’t even yell or cuss Steve out, making him Steve’s best client that month. Hell, he was Steve’s best client  _ period.  _ No one else had given Steve the time of day like Bucky had, and no one else made him crave for more. Steve almost wished Bucky had more injuries so he could spend more time smoothing his chilled hands over firm muscles, wrapping bandages and rubbing in healing herbs. Steve wasn’t quite sure what this feeling was, but he liked it. 

 It was about two weeks in that Steve stepped out of his cave, smiling out at the world. He had his knapsack at his side, filled to the brim with herbs, jars and salves. The sun was bright, the air was cool in his lungs, and that morning, Bucky had looked at Steve like he was something to be cherished. It was a good day. 

 Steve did his best not to let his mood fall as he went about his routine, checking in on regular patients and following the gossip around town. The day’s chatter lead him to backtracking constantly, going to one side of the village to help someone before being sent all the way back to where he’d come from. He helped someone there, only to find that someone on the west side needed his attention, then the east, then the west again, north, south, west, east, until he’d walked in so many circles and treated so many people that it may have been faster just to knock on every door in town.

By the time his work was done, his magic was drained, his legs were sore, and he’d missed his afternoon nap. He managed to walk all the way back to his cave before giving in, and deciding he’d take his nap outside today. The sun still felt good on his skin, despite the hours that passed, and there was no harm in the action. If anyone came to the cave seeking help, he was still there, just outside. If anything, he could help them  _ faster.  _

__ Steve woke about an hour later, feeling calm and refreshed, in Bucky’s arms. They were inside, in front of the fireplace now, and though he didn’t remember getting there, it was a pleasant enough way to wake up. He was cradled in what he remembered to be one of Bucky’s blankets, nestled in between the man’s large form and the fireplace, both striving to be warmer than the other. 

 “Oh shit, oh shit. Steve? Can you hear me?”

 Steve hummed, closing his eyes and nuzzling closer. “Mmm. Warm.”

 He could feel Bucky’s heartbeat pounding against his chest. Steve tried to push some of his powers out at Bucky, encouraging him to relax. Sure enough, his heart rate started to calm down. “You were in the snow,” Bucky announced, his voice surprisingly shaky. “What happened?”

 Steve wanted to roll his eyes. It was in the past, who cared? “Nothin’. I fell asleep.”

 “You… what? In the snow?”

 “Comfy,” Steve muttered against his chest. Snowdrifts could be pretty comfy, but he was pretty sure nothing was as comfortable as being held like this. 

 “You could have frozen—”

 Steve leaned his head back, peering at Bucky with squinted eyes. “I’m an ice nymph.”

 Bucky exhaled slowly, his eyes wide. They seemed to dart over every inch of Steve’s face, like he was looking for an injury or something he could treat. Steve knew the look. “I still don’t know what that means.”

 Steve tucked himself back against Bucky’s chest, pressing cheek to shirt so his words wouldn’t be muffled. “It means I can’t be hurt by the cold, dummy. I take naps outside all the time. It’s nice of you to care, though.”

 “Of course I care.”

 Steve hummed noncommittally. “Did you get any rest?”

 “When I was worried you weren’t gonna wake up? No, I didn’t take a fucking nap.”

 Steve huffed, already closing his eyes again. “You should. I’m still tired.”

 “It’s midday—”

 “Naps are good for the soul,” Steve snapped. “And you’re still healing. Stop yapping and go to sleep.”

 Bucky was quiet for a few moments, and then: “I should be healed by now. I don’t understand why I’m not.”

 By that point, however, Steve was already half asleep. “You’re not healed yet because you’ve been skipping your naps. Come’on, Buck, snuggle with me.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Bucky**

 

 The Soldier knew that it was only a matter of time. He prepared what weapons he had left, kept an ear out for any signs of danger. It was only luck that he was in the terrarium when Hydra eventually came for him, and being as loud and boisterous as they were, it was easy for him to hide. He had a clear path to the exit. He could escape.

 Except.

 Except Steve had been gone for a few hours, and was due back any time now. The Bucky-Thing couldn’t leave if it meant putting Steve in danger. He knew the soldiers that were after him. Knew what they did. Knew what they’d do to Steve. And he couldn’t allow it. He’d just started developing a plan to go outside to find him when Steve walked through the entryway.

 Like a flash, Bucky was there, his right hand over Steve’s mouth and his left arm around his waist, dragging him away. Steve made a noise of surprise, but it was sufficiently muffled into the Soldier’s flesh palm. The Soldier dragged Steve away from the enemy soldiers, through the corridors and into what had to be the nymph’s bedroom, where he slammed him on the bed and crouched over him, staying in the most defensible position possible.

 There was a noise from the kitchen and Bucky bared his teeth. How _dare_ Hydra come here, how _dare_ they taint this holy place. When he turned back to check on Steve, he found a pair of wide eyes staring up at him, and remembered, right, he should clue Steve in on the plan. But he couldn’t let the soldiers hear, so he leaned closer, adequately covering Steve’s smaller body with his own.

 “Hydra’s here,” he whispered, meeting Steve’s huge eyes with his own. Steve blinked a few times, then his horrified expression changed to one of confusion. No, Steve, you should still be scared. Fear is healthy, especially when facing highly-trained soldiers with semi-automatics.

 Steve made a noise against his palm, and Bucky reluctantly pulled his hand away so Steve could talk. “What?” Steve hissed, having the presence of mind to at least keep quiet. “Are those the— the bad guys? The ones who are after you?”

 The ‘bad guys’. Well, that was one way to look at things. “Yes,” Bucky hissed. “We need to leave and never return. Come on, if we go fast—”

 “What? No.” Steve. Steve why. Steve, this is a perfectly reasonable plan. “Wait, just— get off of me, okay, and then we’ll decide a plan.”

 Bucky was about to object— he was in the most defensible position, he should stay on top of Steve, chest to chest, his arms bracketing Steve’s head— when a little zap of cold shot through him and he jumped up. Okay, fine. Sure Steve, whatever you want.

 Steve wiped his hands on his pants, looking down the hallway nervously. “You stay here. I’ll go talk to them.”

 What. No. “What. No. Steve—” Bucky lunged for him, but with deer-like grace Steve dodged, speed-walking down the hallway. Bucky watched helplessly, wanting to call out to stop him but knowing not to. He’d really liked Steve, too. He was the first person— nymph— to be nice to Bucky in… an unclear amount of time. Ever? Maybe. And now, Hydra was going to get him, and Bucky couldn’t even find it within him to follow. He was stuck listening to the soldiers’ chatter go quiet, and then Steve’s voice, amiable as ever, going “Oh, I didn’t see you guys there. Let me wash my hands and then I’ll be right out to help you.”

 Oh, oh, oh no. Why couldn’t Bucky follow him? Why did this have to happen? Why—

 “Alright, so what seems to be the problem? Are either of you sick or injured, or is it something else? And remember, I’m a doctor, so there’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’d be surprised how common STI’s are—”

 “Stop talking,” he snapped. “We’re looking for someone, an escaped prisoner. He’s about this tall, wearing all black leather, and he has a metal arm. I don’t mean to scare you, but he’s dangerous.”

 “A serial killer,” the other soldier agreed. Bucky knew that voice; it was Rollins. The other was Rumlow, his most recent handler.

 The body began to tremble.

 Steve hummed, unconcerned. “Really? Are you sure you’re looking in the right place?”

 “We’ve been tracking him, we know he went in this direction. Now look, we don’t want to hurt you, but—”

 Steve’s laugh pierced through Bucky’s skin like a needle to the heart. “Oh, I hope not! I’m the only doctor in town!”

 Rumlow sounded like he was getting angrier. “Have you seen him or not?”

 “A serial killer with a metal arm? No, no one like that has come through here lately. Wait, is it an actual metal arm, or does it just look metal? Because Mr. Collins has awfully gray skin, I’ve been trying to give him a lotion for it but he always refuses, and from a distance I can see his arm looking _vaguely_ metallic—”

 “It’s metal,” Rollins barked. “And if you have nothing to hide, you won’t mind us taking a look around, will you?”

 “Oh, sure, go for it. I’ll make you some tea. Just… would you do me a favor and put the guns away? If I have a patient with heart problems come in while you’re still here, I wouldn’t want to make it worse by giving them a heart attack, ha! Thanks, you’re a dear.”

 Bucky pressed his forehead against the stone wall, thumping it lightly. This guy was going to give him an aneurysm. Or, maybe, a heart attack. Nice.

 He listened intently for the next minute as the men shuffled and moved things around, with little conversation. Then, Steve must have come out with the tea, because Bucky heard the clicking of spoons against glass, and then what could only be Rollins doing the biggest spit-take of his life, spluttering and coughing. “What the hell _is_ this?”

 Steve, apparently, was undeterred, and he replied as peppily as ever, “It’s a variation of lemongrass! My own invention. Do you not like it?”

 “It’s horrible!”

 Bucky waited, one, two, and then heard _Rumlow_ take a spit take. “Oh my God, what the hell is that! It tastes like shit!”

 “Well, lemongrass is an acquired flavor. Perhaps if you’d just refine your palate—”

 “Fuck you _and_ your palate. Come on, he’s not here. Let’s go.”

 “Oh, already? Okay, have a nice day!”

 “I hope you choke on it, you little cunt.” Bucky clenched his fists, using everything in him to keep from coming after Rollins for saying something like that to Steve. “Yeah yeah, Rumlow, I’m right behind you.”

 Bucky held perfectly still as they walked past his corridor and out. He waited another minute before walking out to the main area— or trying, at least. He couldn’t go any further because there was a huge wall of ice blocking the corridor. He watched with a frown as a crack ran down the middle, and it smoothly fell apart, showing Steve standing behind it, looking apologetic. “Hey.”

 He didn’t get the chance to say anything more before Bucky was engulfing him in a bear hug. Steve laughed against his chest, hugging back just as tightly. “Yeah, yeah, I told you I’d talk to them. And, um, sorry for trapping you in there like that. I thought that if I blocked out this hallway with ice, they would think there wasn’t anything past it.”

 “You genius,” Bucky muttered into his soft, airy hair. He tucked his nose in, smelling Steve’s shampoo. Mm. Chamomile.

 “Hey Buck?” Steve asked after a moment. Bucky was worried at first that maybe hair-sniffing wasn’t appropriate, when Steve continued “I have to confess something. I, um. I peed in their tea.”

  


——————————

  


**Steve**

  


 As soon as the hug ended, Bucky was rushing around, getting all of his things together to leave. When Steve questioned why, he answered “I’m a sitting duck here. I have to keep going.”

 “You’re injured!” Steve objected.

 “Never stopped me before,” Bucky grumbled bitterly.

 Steve stomped his foot down, frustrated. Bucky couldn’t just _leave._ He wasn’t healed yet, and if he left now, Steve wouldn’t be able to keep reapplying the ice treatment to his shoulder! Bucky’d have to put it in a sling, but he obviously wasn’t going to be doing _that._ Really, Steve didn’t have a choice.

 “Fine. Then I’m going with you.”

 That was enough to make Bucky stop. He looked at Steve, giving him a once over before going back to his packing, albeit slower. “No you’re not. It’ll be dangerous.”

 Steve puffed up his chest. “I can handle danger.”

 “Not like this. Hydra’s… everywhere. They don’t care what they do, or to who. They’re evil.”

 “Then why were you working for them?”

 Bucky made a face. “It wasn't my choice.”

 “Where will you even go? If they’re everywhere—”

 “I’ll go to the States. They’re big enough that, as long as I keep moving, I should stay hidden.”

 “I’ll go with you!” Steve offered quickly. “I’ve never been to the United— to the States! It’ll be fun.”

 “No it won’t, it’ll be dangerous—”

 Steve grabbed onto his arm as he passed, pulling him to a stop. Steve grabbed his other arm too, holding on tight and not letting go. “Hey. Stop ignoring me; I want to go.”

 Bucky’s eyes were big. Apparently, he hadn’t been expecting confrontation. Steve cocked his head to the side, waiting.

 “It’ll be dangerous,” Bucky repeated, like a broken record.

 Steve grinned. “It’ll be fun. Besides, we already outsmarted them once before, and it wasn’t even hard. We can do it again.”

  


——————————

  


 It was hard for Steve to say goodbye to his cave. It had been his home for countless years, and a place of healing for even longer than that. He remembered the days when he was young, and there were nymphs everywhere. The tunnels were teeming with cousins and sisters and friends, nymphs who played together and healed together. But nymphs were only around for as long as they were needed, and eventually people decided they didn’t want to settle on their land anymore. They had choices, and when it came down to it, they didn’t like the snow.

 Nymphs were only around for as long as they were needed, so as the human population dwindled, the nymph population did as well. Until, one day, Steve was the only one left.

 There was a teenaged girl in the town named Wanda who was usually kind to Steve, and seemed to have an affinity for magic. Steve would give her his cave, his garden, and all of his supplies, so that she could continue to provide for the town. Even if Steve wanted to leave, he didn’t want to leave _them_ behind to suffer. It was the best compromise he could come up with.

 So Steve packed his bags. He packed enough herbal supplies that he could last a while before needing to replant, along with a few changes of clothes. Bucky said that they’d go to the States on a train, and that Steve should bundle up for it, so he did, changing out of his normal clothes into softer, warmer ones, with socks that went up to his thighs under his pants and an extra shirt. To do this, however, he had to completely undress, which meant that he saw the frostbite marks again. Black patches, traveling up his toes onto the rest of his foot and under his heel. If Steve was honest, he hoped that the journey away would make the frostbite recede. If it didn’t, then, well. At least he’d get one last adventure before he followed his family, wherever it was they went.

 

——————————  


**Bucky**  


The train had just started moving when they got to it. There wasn’t actually a station by Steve’s town, just a spot to refill. It was easy enough for them to hide in the trees until all the foremen cleared away and they could run up, jumping on the back and squeezing themselves in between the railing and the endcar. They leaned against opposite railings, legs tangled together in the tiny space. Steve gave Bucky a little smile as the train started speeding up, all snow-speckled lashes and freckles, and Bucky forced himself to exhale. He’d go to the States. He’d hide from Hydra. And, at all costs, he would protect Steve. He’d had missions before, but none were ever this high stakes. However, it wasn’t like him to break a success streak.

 Steve nudged Bucky with his foot, and Bucky remembered to smile back. He squeezed Steve’s calves in between his own, rubbing his sore shoulder. He looked out at the town they were leaving; leaving the place he’d called home for two weeks, and Steve had called home all his life, to find something new. Maybe— hopefully— something even better.  


—————————  
  


 It was technically illegal to ride on the back of the train, which meant that they had to hide whenever they stopped to let passengers off or refuel. They didn't even pick up any new passengers, so they couldn't sneak on with a new wave of people. Because of this, whenever the train stopped they had to climb on top to hide. This worked fine the first two times, but then Steve fell asleep and Bucky had to keep waking him up to climb. Apparently, Steve was not very coordinated when he was sleepy, because then he started slipping up and somehow, climbing on top of a slowly moving train was suddenly a safety hazard. The next time, Bucky didn’t even bother waking Steve up. Instead, he scooped Steve up and, once he wrapped his legs around Bucky’s torso, carried him up with one arm around his waist and one arm in charge of the climbing. This had an additional benefit because it meant that Steve clung onto him like a baby koala (nice) and then, when he sat back down, Steve continued to cling to him. Steve Hugs Were The Best Hugs, and it made Bucky think vaguely of a cat he may or may not have had at one point, that would lay on top of him and trap him on a chair for hours. In this case, Steve Was The Cat.

 Around sunrise, the train stopped for good and passengers began to disembark, so Bucky picked Steve up and started walking, melding into the crowds. It was hard to see around Steve’s floofy blond hair, so he slung Steve over his shoulder potato sack style and continued walking. This got him a reasonable amount of concerned looks.

 Note: covert ops are not covert if everyone is staring at you because you look like you beat one (1) small twink unconscious and are now carrying him to your murder den. Bucky needed to do better.

 But, that could wait until Steve woke up. And, if Steve Was The Cat, then that meant Bucky was morally obligated to let him sleep as much as his tiny fluffy heart pleased. In the end, that meant climbing on top of a small three-story building and making camp on the roof as the sun rose.  


——————————  


**Steve**

 

 Steve woke slowly, with the sun. That was weird enough on its own, mostly considering the fact that Steve lived in a cave, so the morning sun wasn’t something he was used to. Still, he wasn’t concerned, and as he slowly swam his way up from sleep, he thought about the water he needed to collect, the herbs he needed to harvest, the rounds he needed to make…

 “Are you awake?”

 Steve’s eyelids fluttered open to reveal Bucky looming over him. Well, looming wasn’t exactly the right word. Steve was lying with his head in his lap, and Bucky was simply peering down at him.

 Bucky waited a few moments before poking Steve in the cheek. “Are you awake?” He asked again, ridiculously.

 “No,” Steve answered, making eye contact. “I’m still asleep. Zzzzz…”

 Bucky slapped him on the thigh and Steve burst out in laughter, partly out of surprise. He wasn’t used to this sort of playful companionship, but he found himself enjoying it more and more every moment. “Do we have any water? I want to make tea.”

 Bucky shook his head, his expression twisting up into something more serious. It was an expression he wore a lot when they first met, and they weren’t yet sure of each other. “No. Primary subtask: acquire supplies. Besides, we don’t have any fire to heat the water up.”

 It was Steve’s turn to make a face. “Alright. I don’t want unsteeped, lukewarm tea. Should we go?”

 They got up then, and, unable to do his normal routine, Steve ran a few hands through his hair and stretched idly. He was still half asleep, so it took Bucky shaking his shoulder to realize something was wrong.

 “ _Steve._ Are you doing that on purpose?”

 Steve turned around, a question dying on his lips when he realized that the floor was slippery beneath him. Gradually, the entire roof was being covered with a thin layer of ice.

 Steve blinked. “I…”

 Bucky looked desperate. “Can you stop it?”

 Steve thought for a second, then managed to halt the spread of the ice. What was there, was there, though. Steve could make it shatter, but he couldn’t make it disappear. “I… There. Um. Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

 “Can you make it go away?”

 Steve shook his head, feeling his cheeks heat up. He didn't mean to mess up so badly.

 Bucky forced out a breath. “It's fine. We're leaving, and it's cold enough here that it shouldn't be too suspicious. But we should go.”

 He was right, but first Steve had to change into different clothes. He felt uncomfortable with Bucky so close, but he had him turn around, and Steve was pretty sure he didn't see his blackened skin.

 They climbed down the building-- or rather, Steve held on while Bucky climbed down-- and tried their best to blend in with the crowds.

 “Let’s get food,” Steve suggested, moving in the direction of what looked to be a few stores. He’d barely taken a step before Bucky was hissing and yanking him back roughly.

 “ _Hey_ ,” Bucky snapped, “Watch where you’re going.”

 Steve frowned up at him. Bucky had grabbed his elbow, and was still holding on tightly, like he was trying to keep Steve from doing… whatever he did again. “What? There’s shops that way.”

 “Yeah, across the _street._ You can’t just cross it wherever, there’s cars. You have to find a crosswalk.”

 “A… cross walk.”

 “Yes. Come on, I’ll show you.”

 Bucky lead Steve by his elbow, continuing along the white surface. There were two surfaces, to Steve’s knowledge: a white, raised one, and a black, lowered one. Most of the people were on the white one, Steve acknowledged, but there was also a white one on the other side of the _black_ one, which meant that if you wanted to get to it, you had to go across the black one. The… the street. Bucky’d called it a street. Steve knew abt a street was, obviously, but the ones he was used to were usually dirt paths, and they were more for walking than driving.

 Steve wasn’t sure exactly what they were looking for but he kept his eye out for a cross. Maybe there’d be one where they were allowed to go on the street?

 But, when Bucky stopped and gestured pointedly, Steve couldn’t find any crosses. “Come on. You still need to check for cars, but when you are walking across the crosswalk they are supposed to stop for you.”

 Steve scowled, but nodded. Maybe the cross was hidden. Either way, he could remember that this was a safe place to walk because there were thick white lines on the street, like someone was trying to pretend it was the same as the raised surface. He walked across with Bucky, careful to only stay on the white.

 No cars hit them, which was preferable. Bucky was able to quickly locate a store, and Steve wandered in behind him.

 “Rations,” Bucky muttered. “Potable water. Non-perishable foods. Emergency kit.”

 Steve decided to let Bucky deal with that, since he already seemed to know his way around the store. Steve just wandered a little, his senses having a party. Everything was so brightly colored, and the _smells._ Steve unwrapped one chocolate bar, almost moaning at the rich, bitter scent. He wasn’t sure what Bucky had to trade, though, so he put it back, not wanting to be a burden.

 Steve kept looking around. There was an entire aisle of natural remedies, and though their smells were different from what Steve was used to, he couldn’t help but be intrigued. He peeled the plastic casing off of one container, undoing it and sniffing. It was some sort of salve, light pink and creamy. It looked so much like butter that Steve couldn’t help stick his finger in and taste a bit, looking up just in time to see Bucky at the end of the aisle, staring at him. Steve sucked the salve off his finger, then frowned and closed it again. “It’s missing something. And it’s… sticky. You know how peanut butter sticks to the roof of your mouth? It’s like that.” Steve shifted a little. He probably shouldn’t be too critical, but tasting salves was the best way to test for freshness, as well as quality. A bad tasting salve suggested bad ingredients.

 “Alright,” Bucky muttered, coming up to Steve and pulling him away gently. “I checked out. Let’s go before they realize you were eating the lotion."  


\------------------------  


 They took a train further out of town, paid for thanks to a few wallets Bucky pickpocketed. Steve had sat on a park bench and watched for a while, taking notes about how Bucky did it, before going over to one of the men he'd stolen from and sticking a few mint leaves in his pocket.

 They were nearly late to the train, but Bucky ended up throwing Steve onto his back and sprinting, so they just barely made it. Steve appreciated the scenery for a while before deciding it was time for his afternoon nap, and relaxing against Bucky's side. Bucky was an excellent pillow.  


\-------------------------  


**Bucky**

  


When arriving at their next location, Steve responded negatively to the idea of sleeping on another roof. Roofs were ideal, as forms of low budget shelter, but what was even more ideal was Steve going "Ohhhhh" when they stepped into the motel room.

 "You bought this?" Steve asked, smoothing his hand over the bed's ugly comforter.

 "We rented it," Bucky corrected. "Just for the night."

 "Would we be allowed in during the day too?"

 "I… think," Bucky responded, trying to access old data. Had he ever stayed in a motel before? Surely they allowed customers during the daytime hours. Or was that when they switched out the hideous comforters for other, different but equally horrendous comforters?

 Steve went to the bathroom to get ready for sleep, which he seemed to do constantly, while Bucky dumped out the maps he'd managed to buy earlier onto the bed. He poured over the maps, trying to find some sort of coherency. So many different objectives conflicted in his mind, the desire to be efficient and take the fastest route versus the desire to be hard to follow, and doubling back regularly; the desire to do what made sense versus the desire to not be predictable. All in all, it took nearly half an hour for the Soldier to devise the ideal route, by which time Steve had finished arranging the room just as he liked, taste-tested the coffee in the cheap little machine on the bathroom counter, and finally went to actually get ready for sleep. Bucky wasn't sure what he was doing now, but it didn't matter; Steve would come out when he was at a good stopping point.

 "Steve!" Bucky yelled, carefully monitoring his volume to prevent anyone outside from hearing while still speaking loudly enough for the nymph to hear. "I figured it out!"

 In an instant, Steve poked his head out behind the bathroom door. He appeared to have changed into his pajamas, but Bucky couldn’t tell with how he hid most of his body behind the wall. "Is this about the map?"

 Bucky tried not to sound too indignant when he huffed out a _"Yes."_

 Steve'a features immediately lifted. "Oh, show me!" He scampered out from behind the wall and climbed onto the bed, thumping down so close he was nearly on top of Bucky. Actually, in a way, Steve _was_ on top of him, his bent knee resting over Bucky's. He wore a white t-shirt, but his legs were mostly bare. Bucky blinked at the sight.

 Steve was still wearing underwear, though it was a rather abnormal looking pair, with a large triangle shape on the front and elastic bands around the hips. He also wore a pair of long socks, for some reason. Steve got cozy fast, leaning in front of Bucky's shoulder to get a good look at the map. "Where's the route you wanna take?"

 Bucky was a little slow in dragging his finger along the route they'd take. He didn't dare mark it, in case someone gained access to the map, so instead he simply pointed out the route.

 "It's an unexpected choice, but we don't double back often, so we should make decent time."

 Steve nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, that looks great. I don't... understand it completely, but it'll make sense when we're doing it."

  _Yeah_ , Bucky thought to himself. _When we're doing it._

 "I'm going to finish getting ready for bed now," Steve announced, pressing his hand on Bucky's thigh like he was going to use it as a launch pad. Bucky tried hard not to shiver. "Are you going to change into pajamas?"

  _The Winter Soldier does not wear_ **_Pajamas_**. "I don't have any."

 Steve stared at him in horror. "I thought you bought all the necessities?"

 "Pajamas are not _necessities_."

 "Yes, they are! Okay, I'll finish getting ready and putting _my_ PJs on, while you just put on your normal, boring clothes. Actually, keep your shirt off so I can check your wound."

 "Yes, ma," Bucky responded dryly, before blinking. Where had _that_ come from?

 "I ain't your ma," Steve complained, before kissing Bucky on the head, which in retrospect seemed like a very _ma_ thing to do.

 Then he turned around and walked to the bathroom, and Bucky got to see what the backside of Steve's underwear looked like. There was none.

 Bucky blinked again. There was no backside, just a few elastic straps that held the thing together, pushing Steve's pale buttcheeks up. Why the Hell was he wearing that? What was the strategic value? Did he do it on purpose, to hinder the Soldier's efficiency? Because Bucky felt hindered. He felt _incredibly_ hindered.

 By the time Steve came back, Bucky had changed into clean pants and had taken off his shirt. He had also set his shirt on his lap, to hide said _hindrances._

"Your shoulder is looking good," Steve said after he started observing it. "I think that we should continue your treatment plan with no changes. Hold still?"

 Bucky held still as Steve laid his hands over his wound, letting his power flow through them. The cold felt sharp and bitter, but not painful, not really. And Steve's hands on him… that was nice.

 

\-----------------------  


 They slept together in the same bed, because Steve trusted too much and Bucky didn't have the strength of will to sleep on the floor. Halfway through the night, Bucky woke up shivering. Steve was projecting cold like it was his job, and Bucky was forced to remedy this by wrapping him up like a burrito in a spare blanket and spooning him within an inch of his life. To his knowledge, Steve did not wake up. Sleeping people smiled, right?

 The next day, nutrition was desired to reach optimal efficiency, so they found the nearest breakfast place, a small bistro with a double-tailed siren as its mascot. Bucky was automatically conditioned to distrust any sort of mascot that was a mythological creature with too many body parts-- like, for example, a hydra with more than one head-- but Steve's stomach kept rumbling, so he gave in. Inside the restaurant there was a line, which was enough to make Bucky want to backtrack, except then Steve's stomach rumbled again, so they pushed on.

 When it was their turn to speak to the lady at the register, Bucky had planned out the entire interaction from top to bottom. He waited for her to finish the spiel she gave every customer (HiimbrittneyandwelcometostarbuckswhatcanIgetforyou) before pointing sophisticatedly at one of the sandwiches in the display case. "Four of those."

 "Okay. And, um, are you together?"

 Steve was distracted staring at the pastries, so Bucky subtly grabbed his shirt collar and hauled him over. "What do you want?"

 "I'll get the muffin rolls," Steve said cheerily. "Thank you."

 "Alright, and will either of you be getting anything to drink today?"

  _Umm._ "Umm." This wasn't a part of the script.

 Steve smiled up at her. "Do you have tea?"

 "We do! We have green tea, earl grey, masala chai, as well as our iced teas--"

 Steve's eyes lit up. "What's in masala chai?"

 "Um… I'm not sure exactly, but I think it's Indian…"

 "Can I smell it?"

 "Huh?"

 Steve was being very patient. "Can I smell the tea, please? If you would just bring over the kettle…"

 "Oh! Um, we don't really…"

 "Oh, then don't worry about it. I wouldn't want you to have to put on a new kettle."

 The woman looked officially lost. "We… um, here at Starbucks, we don't really…"

 Bucky sighed. This is why they never sent the Winter Soldier on snack runs. "Put on a new kettle. Stevie, find a seat."

 "Are you sure? I wouldn't want to cause trou--"

 "If you don't find a seat, _I'll_ be the one causing trouble," Bucky threatened, slamming a twenty on the counter and referring to the cashier. "Start a new kettle."

 She looked in between Bucky and Steve, and then at the line, and nodded. "...Yeah. We'll do that."  


——————————  


 Bucky dragged Steve to a table with good sightlines, letting Steve have the seat with his back to the door. They both scanned the perimeter, but as Bucky’s eyes strayed to Steve, he realized they were scanning for different things. Steve’s eyes were wide, interested in taking in every little bit of information there was. There was no malicious intent behind his gaze, just curiosity.

 Steve caught him, and Bucky immediately looked away, rubbing his sore shoulder awkwardly. He shouldn’t have been staring. Even more, he shouldn’t have been _caught_ staring. He’d been Hydra’s Asset for so many years, one would think that he’d be capable of looking without getting caught. Why did he even bother looking at Steve? He was just… just…

 Just tiny, and blond, and an _ice nymph._ In his pockets were herbs he just ‘couldn’t go anywhere without’, and under his clothes he wore a _jockstrap._ He was so strange and ridiculous and _he_ didn’t give a single flying fuck about sightlines, so Bucky shouldn’t give a fuck about him. But he did. He gave too many fucks. And he didn’t understand why.

 Steve smiled at him, ducking his head a little. “Look to your left. There’s a little guy looking at you.”

 Bucky jerked his head to the left, his hand instantly going to the knife strapped to his thigh. He tried to find the threat, but all he saw was a tiny baby looking over their father’s shoulder, staring at— oh.

 “That is not a little _guy,_ ” Bucky complained. “That is an infant.”

 Steve rolled his eyes, kicking Bucky playfully under the table. Automatically, Bucky caught his ankle between his calves, squeezing. Steve just rocked his leg a little, not trying to get out of the hold. How could someone be so comfortable with being… trapped?

 “I’ve got a masala chai for ‘John’,” the woman at the counter called. Bucky quickly got up, surveying the patrons around him as he went, and retrieved Steve’s tea, interlacing their ankles under the table once more. When he set it on the table, Steve gave him an intrigued, almost offended look. “Your name is John?”

 “No. I gave her a fake. My name is classified.” He looked around the room, keeping his eyes open for anyone who looked to be a threat. “I can’t just give it to a _server.”_

 “Why not? What could she do with your name that’s so bad?”

 Bucky stared at Steve. Surely he wasn’t that naive. “I’m being hunted by Hydra. My name is a dead—”

 “Do any of those Hydra agents actually know your name?” Steve challenged. He crossed his arms, leaning back in his seat, but even though his posture was defensive, he didn’t pull his leg away under the table. Instead he moved it a little more, like he was stroking Bucky’s calf. “If there was a Hydra agent in this shop, would they look up if they heard your name?”

 Bucky gritted his teeth. That was a strong _no;_ the agents weren’t allowed to know his name any more than Bucky was. They could call him The Soldier, The Winter Soldier, or just The Asset. They could not call him _Bucky._

 But that didn’t mean there was any reason to put himself at risk. “What if they check the restaurant database? They could find out exactly where I’ve been.”

 Steve nodded, considering this. Bucky had just about thought he’d won when Steve pointed out “They wrote your name in sharpie. There is no database.” He grinned, not quite cocky, but not far off. “The whole point of having a name is so people can use it. If you keep yourself locked up your whole life, what’s the point?”  


—————————  


 They ate their food in relative silence after that. Bucky plowed through his sandwiches as quickly as possible, trying to cram down the nutrients in the most efficient possible manner. Meanwhile, Steve snacked on his food, making comments about the tea from time to time. Bucky nearly jumped out of his skin when Steve motioned a barista over, smiling and saying, “Hi, I’m Steve and this is my companion Bucky. Would you mind heating up my tea for me? It’s gotten a little, um… frosty.”

 The barista picked up Steve’s tea, frowning at it. “They shouldn’t’ve put an iced drink in this cup.”

 Steve’s smile grew a little tight around the edges. “It wasn’t iced when I got it. Um, it’s very… drafty, over here. If you wouldn’t mind getting me a warm cup—”

 “Yeah, no prob’. Gimme a minute.”

 Once she was gone, Steve gave Bucky that cheeky little look, like he was waiting for a comment on how Steve gave not one, but both of their names away. Instead of commenting, Bucky just glowered. Steve seemed to find this funnier than an actual comment.

 

——————————  


 They’d been traveling together for three days when they saw Rumlow and Rollins again. The fact that they’d ended up in the same place as them at all was horrific. It meant that no matter how much of Hydra’s conditioning Bucky had managed to shake off, there was still enough ingrained inside him that Hydra knew the _exact route_ he would take to avoid them.

 Bucky saw them when he was coming back from the bathroom. He and Steve had set up at a little café for lunch, and Stevie had pressured him into sitting outside. Bucky had known it would be a horrible idea, but he’d given in anyways, because, well, _Stevie._ Steve was still sitting at his spot by the railing, completely unprotected. He wasn’t even wearing a _hat._ If Rumlow recognized him, he would know immediately what was going on, and Bucky… Bucky would be helpless to stop them.

 Bucky turned the corner, walking away from Steve. He climbed onto the roof of the building, having to use only his left arm to climb as his right shoulder was still healing, and walked across it with precise, silent footsteps before he sat down when he got to the corner closest to them. They wouldn’t be able to see him, but if they noticed Steve, Bucky had the best vantage point to take them out.

 His head _throbbed._ He was not supposed to take out targets in broad daylight with no cover.

 “I swear, I’m gonna lodge my entire foot up Sitwell’s ass,” Rumlow complained loudly. “Send him another message. The fucking _Avengers_ are after him. He can’t keep denying us backup if he wants to keep the Asset.”

 “I’ll send him another message, but it sounds like it’s just us.”

 “Goddammit. We used to have a full team of people just to kill one guy who didn’t even have training. Since when is this our mode of operations?”

 “Since the base in Olomouc went down, and we had to move the Asset to a temp site? Look, if that was the Avengers— and I think it was— then the boss will want to keep them distracted with the Asset. Hydra needs time to recover and get our defenses up. Have you seen their tech? We’re lucky the Asset didn’t get killed by Iron Man, he never should have been sent on that mission. So now, Sitwell has just us running after the Asset while the Avengers are also looking for him, because he doesn’t need us to find it. He just needs us to keep the Avengers off of Hydra’s tail long enough for us to regroup.”

 Bucky could hear Rumlow’s grunt of annoyance. “So what you’re saying is, he doesn’t think we can catch it.”

 “Maybe. Or he just thinks we’ll be slower without reinforcements.”

 “Well, he’s not fucking wrong. This shit’s _ridiculous._ We’re walking in the dark here.”

 “Except we already found tracks. We know we’re looking in the right direction, we just have to _keep_ looking. For all we know, he could be on this very block.”

 They went quiet for a few moments, and Bucky was worried for a second that they’d finally noticed Steve. Then Rumlow sighed. “You’re a cunt, you know that?”

 “Yeah, yeah, you just hate me ‘cause I’m right. Come on, let’s go find our Asset.”

 Bucky stayed in position until he’d counted to sixty twice, and only then peered over the edge of the building to confirm they were gone. They were.

 He jumped down onto the pavement, and Steve jerked, but otherwise didn’t say anything. He watched as Bucky strode towards him, his chin tucked anxiously, and Bucky was about to say something when the ground was ripped out from under him and his legs kicked up. He barely managed to grab the railing in time to keep from landing on his back, his senses all jumping to eleven as he muttered “what the fu—”

 Underneath him, there was a patch of crystalline ice. He stared at it. It was cold out, but it wasn’t _that_ cold. Why would—

 Then he caught Steve’s eye, and saw how he was gnawing on his lip. Bucky pointed at the ground with the toe of his boot, still not ready to release the railing. “This you?”

 Steve nodded once. Bucky looked over the side of the railing to where the agents had been standing and cursed again. The ice had begun to sneak underneath it. Steve had managed to stay unnoticed, but only barely.

 “Get up,” Bucky muttered. “We have to leave.”

 Steve stood immediately, grabbing his still wrapped sandwich and shoving it in his hoodie pocket. “Where are we going?”

 “Somewhere different,” Bucky announced, deciding it on the spot. “They’re able to track us because they know where my training tells me to go. Which means I have to go against my training.” He hopped the fence in one move, then grabbed Steve by the shoulders and supported his back as he lifted him over the railing smoothly. “I was thinking the Avengers Tower. Let’s go to New York.”


	3. Chapter 3

 

**Bucky**

 

They took a cab out of town, because cabs were inconvenient and expensive, and Bucky was pretty sure he'd only used them as an absolute last resort when working as the Winter Soldier.

 Cabs did have a few conveniences, though. There was much more privacy than on a train. Less people to watch. This cab in particular was also especially warm, which seemed to perk Steve up a bit. He pulled his hood up on his head, burrowed down in his seat, and got just about as close as he could to Bucky before resting his head on his chest, sighing contentedly. The position made it so Bucky's arm was around Steve's back, holding him close. He sighed, rubbing his hand there. "You cold?"

 "Ice nymph," Steve whispered. "I'm always cold."

 He always _felt_ cold, that was true. Bucky hardly noticed temperature anymore, but he was aware, abstractly, that Steve was a chilly little dude. "I never realized it bothered you," he thought out loud.

 Steve shrugged. "It's not dangerous, or anything. I'm usually fine with the cold. Lately I've just been… more sensitive."

 They drove straight north, switching out drivers from time to time. The prices made Bucky's chest tighten, but he still had a decent stash left. He'd have to get more soon, but they weren't in any immediate danger of going broke.

 When they got to their new motel room, Steve burrowed in the covers while Bucky went on a quick recon mission. When he came back, it was with a large bag of sweaters, hoodies, gloves and socks. Steve grabbed a few things from his bag and went to the bathroom to change, before coming out with his long socks, jockstrap, and plain shirt, ready to try some of the other clothes on.

 "Why do you do that?" Bucky wondered. "You get changed in private, but you don't mind walking around with your ass out."

 "Ass is a dirty word," Steve teased quietly as he passed, grabbing a pair of pants. He didn't answer the question. “Let me see your shoulder?”

 Bucky took his shirt off, letting Steve examine the wound. It was exactly the same as all the times before, it seemed, and Steve pressed his hands against it, making shivers of cold emanate from the site. Steve watched his work as Bucky watched Steve. His blond hair seemed almost luminescent, like it was glowing faintly in the dim light. There was something in his hair, though— maybe a leaf? Before Bucky could stop himself, he ran a hand through Steve’s hair to get it out, only for his hand to touch something he wasn’t expecting.

 Steve went still. The chilling feeling spreading across Bucky’s body stopped. Bucky frowned, pushing Steve’s hair back a little more. “Steve… are these horns?”

 

—————————

**Steve**

 

“Steve… are these horns?”

 “Antlers,” Steve exhaled. Bucky’s thumb rubbed over Steve’s left one, and he shivered lightly. The antlers were hardly stubs, easily concealed by his thick hair, but they were covered in a thin layer of velvet fur that made them especially sensitive. It was a private, intimate thing to touch a nymph’s antlers, something reserved for mother and child, close friends, and of course, lovers. Steve decided silently not to tell Bucky that. If he wanted to touch Steve’s antlers, he was more than allowed.

 Bucky went still, his forefinger and thumb remaining pinched around Steve’s right antler. “Steve… do you have a tail?”

 Steve burst out laughing. “What? No, where would I even _put_ a tail?”

 “I don’t know!” Bucky declared, breaking into a grin. “Maybe your shirt hides it?”

 “It’d be so high up!” Steve protested. “If I had a tail, it’d have to be right…” he placed his hand on his sacrum, the lowest point of his back right above his bottom. Bucky’s hand slowly came to a rest on top of his hand, sending shivers up his body.

 “Right here?” Bucky teased.

 “Right here,” Steve agreed, suddenly breathless. “See? No tail.”

 “No tail,” Bucky agreed. He didn’t move his hand. “Anything else you want to tell me about being a nymph? There’s the powers, the healing, the antlers…”

 Instantly, Steve thought back to the frostbite spreading up his legs. Both of his feet were mottled with black, and it was only traveling, spreading up to his knees. Soon he would have to always wear pants around Bucky to hide them. Unless he told him…

 “I have fur,” Steve said, deciding to go on the lighter route. Bucky didn’t want to know about the frostbite, it’d only upset him. Steve didn’t need Bucky worrying about him; taking care of them was Steve’s job. “Um, you might have noticed my arms and legs are sort of fuzzy. It’s pretty short, and blond—”

 “Peach fuzz,” Bucky said fondly. “And it’s not just on your arms and legs.”

 He raised his eyebrows, and Steve blushed. “Um. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 Bucky’s hand moved down slowly, his eyes watching Steve’s in case he revoked his permission. He didn’t— wouldn’t. Bucky was so _warm._ He also cared, and that was good enough for Steve. He could touch him wherever he wanted, however he wanted. Steve was like a fresh beeswax candle, melting under his touch.

 Bucky’s hand strayed under Steve’s sweatpants, dipping in between his cheeks until he was smoothing his thumb over the soft fuzz there. Steve gasped lightly, leaning all the way against Bucky’s body and tucking his chin over his shoulder. He stuck his rear out a little further, giving him more access.

 “Steve?” Bucky whispered. “Is this—”

 “It’s good,” Steve promised. “It’s really, really—” he cut himself off, letting his mouth open in a silent moan as Bucky rubbed against his perineum. No one had ever touched him like that. It had been so long since anyone touched him with kindness at all. He was so used to being touched with malicious intent that this was… this was…

 Bucky pulled Steve onto his lap in full, adjusting their position so they could see each other’s faces. Steve knew he probably looked silly, what with the way his eyes were half closed, his expression relaxed. He hoped Bucky didn’t think he was falling asleep, because he wasn’t. It was just— the feeling— the closeness—

 Bucky got a grip on the back of Steve’s head, like he was going to direct Steve’s movements. Steve didn’t give him the chance to, leaning in and pressing their lips together in one fluid motion. He seemed to take Bucky by surprise, and together they rocked back, getting close to losing their balance altogether before Bucky put his hand down on the bed, anchoring them. They kissed sweetly, taking their time. Bucky really was warm, and Steve tried to suck that warmth straight from his skin.

 Eventually, Bucky rolled them over, laying Steve back on the mattress. Steve kept his legs wrapped around his waist, holding on tightly.

 Steve was the first one to push his pants off, giving Bucky a look that he hoped spoke volumes about his intentions. Bucky leaned down, balancing himself on his good arm, and kissed him again, his flesh hand cupping Steve’s face. Steve never wanted to leave.

 

————————

  **Bucky**

 

Bucky woke up the next morning to Steve clinging to his back like a koala. He carefully rolled over, making sure not to disturb the still-sleeping nymph. Steve was wearing only his jockstrap and his socks, both of which he’d requested to keep on during last night's… activities. Though Bucky didn’t understand why, he didn’t mind in the slightest. Maybe Steve always wore the socks because his feet were especially cold, and they helped him retain optimal internal homeostasis?

 Based on prior data in regards to Steve’s sleep schedule, Bucky guessed he would remain sleeping for at least a few hours longer. They could afford to take a morning off from traveling, especially since they’d managed to throw Hydra off their trail.

 Bucky wrote a quick note letting Steve know where he was, then tucked him in and left the motel room. He would replenish their supplies while Steve was sleeping.

 He was gone for nearly two hours, what with the lag of having to find transportation and then find the supplies that were actually needed. Along with the necessities, he’d gotten some fresh mint leaves for Steve, as well as a new pair of long socks with superior insulating. He also got another hoodie, because a maroon one had caught his eyes and he couldn’t stop thinking about what Steve would look like in it. Really, it was just as much a necessity as the food.

 At the checkout line, he allowed himself an additional indulgence of a bag of chips. Chips were high in sodium and low in nutrients, which made them inferior supplementary food, but recently Steve had gotten him to try some and he found himself enjoying them. Besides, he could make the tiniest indulgence for himself, couldn’t he? He wasn’t paying with Hydra’s money. If anything, the chips were necessary for counterconditioning.

 Bucky was bustling with excitement when he got back to the motel room. He couldn’t wait to find Steve, likely still in bed, a lazy smile on his face and his hair tousled. He would show Steve his purchases, the necessary ones and the indulgences. He would get to give Steve his presents, would get to wrap him up and keep him warm.

 Bucky opened the door, a soft smile already on his face. First, his eyes went to the bed. Steve wasn’t anywhere to be seen, and the comforter was on the floor. Why was the comforter on the floor? Steve wouldn’t—

 Bucky’s eye tracked up, and instantly latched on to Rumlow’s gaze. Rumlow stood by the back wall, smirking, with Steve standing beside him. The bedsheets has been torn and used to bind and gag Steve, with restraints around his knees and wrists. Steve was wearing a shirt, so he must have at least been awake when Rumlow came, but his pants were still on the other side of the room. Rumlow held him up by the back of his shirt, but was forcing him to stand with his knees bent— a stress position. Bucky had it used on him before, and knew that the way Steve’s legs shook wasn’t just for show. It was from exertion.

 It may have also been from fear. That would be reasonable, what with the gun Rumlow was holding to Steve’s head. Steve’s cheek was already scraped, which meant that Rumlow already found a reason to use force.

 Steve let out a sob when he saw Bucky, and Rumlow gave him a little shake, like a misbehaving puppy. “Asset. Report.”

 “Let him go,” Bucky whispered. He wasn’t armed except for the knives in his boots and hidden beneath his jacket, but Rumlow would know that. Rumlow knew all of his hiding places, and would instantly see if Bucky was going for a weapon. Just the same, Bucky knew that Rumlow wasn’t above shooting an innocent. His gun was loaded, and he would feel absolutely no remorse for killing Steve where he stood.

 “ _Asset,”_ Rumlow said, sharper this time. “Get on your knees. Hands behind your head.”

 “ _No.”_

There was a presence coming up behind him, but he couldn’t turn, couldn’t look away from Steve. The metal barrel of a gun pressed against his own neck; Rollins. “Listen to your handler. Order comes from obedience.”

 Bucky could feel himself start to tremble, nearly as bad as Steve was. This couldn’t be happening. Just the night before, he and Steve had been safe, engulfed in each other’s warmth. And now all of that had been ripped away. “ _No.”_

 “Listen to Lieutenant Rollins,” Rumlow commanded, his voice sharp and harsh. “If you don’t obey, I will sho—”

 Bucky jerked his head to the side, grabbed the gun from behind him and flipped Rollins over his shoulder. He hit Rollins with a brachial stun to the neck and ripped the gun from his hand, yanking him up as a human shield just as the sound of the gun registered. Rollins yelled, his leg jerking back, and Bucky dropped him, leaping over him. Steve was already there, having gotten out of Rumlow’s grip when Rumlow had fired the gun. Rumlow hadn’t shot at Steve, of course, but at Bucky, knowing he couldn’t give the Asset any time advantage. Instead he’d hit Rollins.

 Steve practically jumped into Bucky’s arms and Bucky swung him around, tossing him through the door, over Rollin’s body. Then Rumlow was in Bucky’s space, trying to take him down, but Bucky was ready, ripping his gun from his hands. He slammed his metal fist into Rumlow’s face, feeling the crack of his orbital bone. Rumlow stumbled back, and Bucky took the opportunity to run.

 The Asset would have finished them off. The Asset left no witnesses.

 But Bucky was not The Asset. Not anymore.

 He leaped over Rollin’s groaning body, grabbing Steve’s wrist and running with him. Behind him, he heard Rumlow yelling, outside of the room now. “Rollins! Fuck, fuck, stay with me, you hear? You aren’t allowed to leave me, you dick, not like this—”

 “Shut up,” Rollins panted. “Go after them, I’ll be fine.”

 “I’m not leaving y—”

 And then they were in the woods, too far away to hear. Steve was small, his legs much shorter than Bucky’s, but he ran like a deer, leaping over any obstacle in his path with hardly any effort. They kept running and running, and when they stopped, it was only because Steve’s legs gave out and he stumbled against a tree. “Steve!”

 “I’m fine!” Steve said quickly. “My legs are just tired, Rumlow made me stand with bent knees the entire time we were waiting for you. Bucky, I’m so glad you’re okay—”

 Bucky grabbed him by the face, surveying him for damage. The scrape on his face looked like it stung, but wasn’t deep. His wrists were also rubbed raw. Steve had managed to get out of his binds, it seemed, something that must have happened mid-fight, but Bucky was too distracted to recognize. Steve was a regular escape artist. However, now that the immediate danger was over, Bucky was able to think again, gripping Steve’s face hard. “Steve, why didn’t you use your power? They could have killed you, and they weren’t expecting it. You could have defended yourself, Steve—!”

 “I can’t hurt anyone!” Steve yelled back, shoving Bucky’s hands off of him but not moving away. “I just can’t do it.”

 “You _can’t_ or you _won’t?_ ” Bucky growled.

 Steve set his jaw, stubborn to the end. “One answer is not worth more than the other. I am a nature spirit, therefore it is my _birthright_ to _protect._ I refuse to use my powers to harm!”

 “Then why won’t you protect yourself!” Bucky yelled, shoving him backwards a few steps. “Your birthright means _nothing_ if you get shot in a shitty motel room!”

 “What about you, huh? You could’ve gotten shot too, how is this all about me?”

 “You’re the one who has powers! And don’t tell me you couldn’t have done anything, because I know you cou—”

 Steve screamed, stamping his foot. At the same time, he slammed his hands from shoulder height down to his hips, like he was punching at the ground, and a huge wall of ice slammed into creation. “My powers are not supposed to be used for personal gain!”

 Bucky stepped back, eyes wide in horror. Without even trying— hell, without even _noticing—_ Steve had made a huge slab of ice, so tall it jutted into the trees. Around his feet, shards of ice had shot out, making it look almost as if he were standing on a pedestal.

 Steve glanced behind him at his creation, looking surprised, but not shocked. He closed his hands into fists, wrapping his arms around himself. “Let’s stay here. I need to be around nature for a while.”

 “They’ll be coming after us,” Bucky said, even though he didn’t particularly want to. “Rollins got shot in the thigh, and Rumlow can get a tourniquet on in less than a minute. He’ll be here soon.”

 Steve slumped, but nodded. “Fine. Then we should go.”

 Bucky offered him his hand, helping him down from his icy pedestal. Steve walked in front of him, head still down, and it was only then that Bucky remembered something vaguely important and incredibly stupid. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, undoing his boots and shucking off his pants. Steve stopped and looked at him, but didn’t ask. Bucky threw his pants at him, then redid his boots. “Put those on. I can see your ass.”

 Steve grinned, pulling the pants on over his jockstrap without complaint. “You like my ass.”

 Bucky sighed, ruffling Steve’s hair and letting his hand bump against the nubs of his antlers, just to remind him that they were there. “Yeah. Maybe.”

 

————————

  **Steve**

 

“Stevie?” Bucky asked from outside the door, a little hesitant. “Are you okay?”

 “I’m fine,” Steve called back. “I’m taking a bath.”

 It was true. The bath was half filled with warm water, and Steve was leaning against one edge, his back supported by towels. His feet laid crossed over the other rim of the tub. It was an incredibly normal scene— that is, if you ignored the pitch black decaying spots creeping up his legs. The skin was its normal texture, showed no signs of peeling, and didn’t cause him any trouble walking. That didn’t mean it wasn’t killing him.

 Steve tried to remember how long it had taken to kill his relatives. Surely, not this long. Steve had the spots for weeks before meeting Bucky, and they stayed consistent all the way up until they left Steve’s home, when it got so much worse. Now, the blackness had officially reached his thighs. It was a good thing Bucky had bought him new socks, because otherwise he’d have to start wearing pants all the time.

 Steve looked down and immediately felt sick. His fingers were black now too; how hadn’t he seen that before? So far, it was just his fingertips, but if those marks spread like the others it’d be his entire hands by the end of the week.

 Steve got out of the bathtub so quickly he splashed water on the floor. He was done looking at his dying body. He had other, more important things to tend to. But first, he had to make sure Bucky didn’t see his hands.

 He got dressed quickly, sending out a quick prayer of thanks when he saw that his socks just barely covered the blackness on his legs. Once outside of the bathroom, he pulled on a pair of pants, a shirt, and a hoodie, hiding his hands in the hoodie pocket. “Bucky, can I have some money? I want to go buy something.”

 Bucky sat up from where he’d been laying on the bed. “What do you want to buy?”

 “Something I need,” Steve replied calmly. “Please?”

 Bucky looked over him carefully, taking in his full appearance. Steve did his best not to twitch at his scrutiny.

 “Okay,” Bucky said cautiously. “But let me go with you. I don’t… I don’t want a repeat of this morning.”

 Steve nodded. He would have preferred Bucky to come with him anyway, if it weren’t for the nature of the product he was buying. He’d still find a way to keep it hidden.

 They walked to a nearby convenience store, and Bucky looked around a bit while Steve went straight towards the apparel aisle. There were two different pairs of gloves, and after some deliberation, he chose the women’s pair. They’d fit better on his slim fingers, anyway. After that, he grabbed a package of green tea, which he’d use in part to help heal the scrape on his face. He set his items on the checkout counter and was just turning to look for Bucky when Bucky appeared behind him, reaching over Steve’s shoulder to set two bags of chips on the counter. “Stevie, do you like salt and vinegar flavored?”

 Steve shrugged. “Sure.”

 He saw Bucky scan the counter, looking at his own purchase, but he said nothing. Finally, he looked up at the cashier, pushing all four items together as if to say _yes, we’re together. Separate items, but one purchase._ Steve shivered.

 As soon as they got back to the room, he pulled the gloves on and didn’t take them off, not even to sleep.

 

————————— 

 

 

 They were getting closer to the Avengers Tower every day. Steve didn’t know what they would do when they actually got to Manhattan, but he trusted Bucky to figure it out. Bucky knew the plan, knew how to keep them safe, and Steve would trust him to the end of the line.

 After traveling for a while, they stopped at a park for lunch, eating greasy vender food and holding hands. Bucky didn’t ask Steve about the gloves, though he did check in to make sure Steve was warm enough multiple times throughout the day. He usually was, though he didn’t turn down cuddles if they were an option.

 Bucky thought Steve wore the gloves because he was cold, which was a good cover. Even though the gloves were meant to hide his frostbitten fingertips, Steve _was_ cold. He was colder than he’d ever been in his life. How many days had it been since he fell asleep in a snow bank? How many weeks since he’d walked around his cave in bare feet, savoring the chill against his skin. Now, he was in a climate thirty degrees warmer, and he spent the days with pink flushed skin, wrapped in layers to protect himself from what he’d once considered _warm weather._

 Steve was thinking about it later that night, perched on the edge of the bed in their motel room. He rubbed his hand against his toes, marveling at how he could barely feel the pressure. Was it always like that? Or was his body just deteriorating faster than he’d expected, the nerves dying out. After the nerves died, it was only a matter of time before the rest started to go, muscle and tissue and skin cells—

 “Jeez,” Steve muttered. “ _Jeez.”_ He curled in on himself, bringing his knees up on the bed.

 “Hey, hey, Stevie,” Bucky said, quickly coming over. “It’s okay, just breathe—”

 “I am breathing,” Steve muttered hollowly. “I just…” his skin tingled with excess energy, his powers desperate to be of some use. But that was the problem— there was _no use._ There were no herbs or salves that could save him, they didn’t _exist._ His entire family— his entire _race—_ gone to this disease. They were no longer needed, so Mother Nature _took them back_.

 “Steve?” Bucky asked softly, giving him a little shake.

 Steve jerked, remembering where he was, who he was with. He couldn’t let Bucky see him like this. Not when Bucky had other things to worry about. He was being hunted down, for Pete’s sake; he had more important things to worry about. “Let’s go outside?” Steve pleaded, knowing the outdoors would make him feel at least emotionally better, and would help Bucky feel useful. Sometimes, when a family member was dying, the most merciful thing to do was give someone a task. Anything to feel like it wasn’t a lost cause.

 Bucky was quick to hustle them outside, where they sat in the evening air by a few maple trees. Steve dug his fingers into the dirt, feeling himself relax as his body noted the nature surrounding him, uncurling bit by bit. Bucky seemed to relax as well, a solid presence at Steve’s side, his arm wrapped loosely around him. “Better?”

 Steve snuggled up against him, trying to leach his warmth. Even though he was wearing gloves, a hoodie, a shirt, pants and long socks, he still felt like he was freezing. But, well, dying could do that to a person.

 “Yeah,” Steve whispered, nuzzling against Bucky’s chest. “Nature always helps.”

 Nature always helped, until she decided Steve was no longer needed. Well, he was _almost_ no longer needed. Bucky’s shoulder still needed his ice to hold it together, which would likely take… two weeks? It was even less time than Steve had thought.

 “Steve?”

 Steve was suddenly reminded of Bucky’s presence, draped over him like a shawl. Had he asked him a question? “Hmm?”

 “I asked if you would want to live in America surrounded by nature. Someday, I mean.”

 “Sure,” Steve hummed. “Why not?”

 Bucky chuckled and leaned down, kissing him on the head. “Looks like it’s time for you to go to bed. Do you want to go inside, or stay out here?”

 The fact that Steve had that option at all was ridiculous enough to make him chuckle. “We can go inside. That way _you_ can actually get some sleep too, Mister Deer.”

 “Mister Deer?” Bucky repeated, his tone laced with amusement.

 Steve put his chin on Bucky’s shoulder, smiling sleepily up at him. “Yeah. Deers only sleep a few hours a night. Like you.”

 “If either of us is a deer, it’s you.” Bucky pinched Steve’s horns lightly, unaware of how it made an excited shiver race down Steve’s body. “Alright, deer-boy. C’mere.” He scooped Steve up, letting him wrap his legs around Bucky’s waist while he helped him inside. He plopped him on the bed, roughly, because that was how Bucky did most things, but Steve didn’t mind in the slightest. There was an affection in his intensity; there always had been. From the first day they’d met, Steve had seen that.

 “Goodnight, dear,” Steve teased. “Love you.”

 Bucky stopped mid-step, pausing for just a moment before looking over his shoulder and sending Steve a brief flash of a smile, showing that he understood. Then he shuffled forwards again, a little awkwardly, and Steve curled into his pillow, letting out a puff of cold air and closing his eyes.

 

————————

**Bucky**

 

Bucky stayed up for most of the night, going back and forth between watching late night television and watching Steve sleep. He’d fallen asleep almost instantly, leaving Bucky to get ready for bed in silence.

  _Love you._ Fuck, how long had it been since someone said that to him? How long had it been since anyone had _felt that_ towards him? He wasn’t— he was the Winter Soldier. He couldn’t be— couldn’t be _loved._ That just didn’t happen.

 He did think, somewhere deep inside him, he felt love for Steve. If it was there, it wasn’t his primary emotion towards him. First came the admiration, as Bucky had never met anyone with as good of intentions as Steve. Then came the fear, the fear Bucky had for every single soft blond hair on Steve’s body. Steve was sweet, but the world was not. His cheek was still badly scraped from the encounter with Rumlow. Steve knew of the good in the world, but Bucky knew of the evil, and he was so, so scared for Steve. Maybe underneath that was the love; Bucky couldn’t say. All he knew was that he never, ever wanted Steve to hurt.

 When he eventually turned the tv off and laid down, it took a long time to fall asleep. Eventually, Bucky closed his eyes and let himself indulge in a fantasy he’d started that afternoon; a fantasy where they lived together, and they weren’t running from anyone, and they weren’t hurting anyone, and they had a huge garden out back. And that was it; that was all Bucky wanted, all Bucky could ever want. Just him and Steve. One day, it may even be a reality. All they needed was time, and time may have been the one thing in life they had an abundance of. Bucky’s shoulder would heal; they’d manage to get Hydra and the Avenger’s off of their tails; they could stop running. Bucky could wrap Steve up in heated blankets and everything, _everything,_ would be perfect.

———————-

Bucky curled around Steve in his sleep, breathing in his soft smell. Sometime during the night, Steve rolled over, so they were face to face in their sleep. Bucky could feel his soft, fuzzy legs against his own, could feel the chill his body always emitted, and was instinctively moving closer when he felt Steve’s body stir. Bucky froze then, not wanting to wake him up.

 “I know you’re awake,” Steve teased, his voice soft and airy. Bucky could hear the smile. “Good morning, Buck.”

 Bucky fluttered his eyes open, already smiling before his vision had time to adjust. Immediately, his smile dropped.

 Steve frowned at him, eyes still half closed. “What? What’s wrong?”

 Bucky struggled for words, immediately reverting back to Winter Soldier mode in his panic. Mission objecti— fuck— call for backup— report any inconsistencies— yes, sir!

 “Bucky?” Steve said, sitting up. “What’s wrong?”

  _A deficiency has been spotted. Wipe him—_

“Bucky!”

 “Steve!” Bucky gasped out. He pushed himself from the memories, clinging onto the sheets like they were all he had left of reality. He broke the surface and surged up, clutching Steve around the face, which only made Steve’s eyes go wider. His eyes, which were just above the mark. The mark, the, the black, the—

 “Steve, is that— is that _frostbite?_ ”


	4. Chapter 4

**Steve**

 

_“Steve, is that— is that frostbite?”_

 

Steve stared at Bucky in horror, and for a second Bucky almost felt relieved. Of _course_ is wasn’t frostbite, the room was 65 degrees Fahrenheit ! Why would it be frostbite? Steve was staring at him that way because he was so surprised at Bucky saying that, because it was a surprising thing to say, and not because—

 “I— crud!” Steve announced, jerking so hard he almost fell off the bed. “Close your eyes!”

  _“What?”_

 “Close your eyes!” Steve wailed, so intense Bucky couldn’t disobey. He squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth when Steve ordered him to take off his shirt.

 “Steve—”

 “Do it! Just listen, okay, just listen!”

 Bucky listened, pulling his shirt off in one quick movement. Steve shoved him down against the pillows, his hands working across his chest, and _oh._ Steve was working on his shoulder, Steve was trying to heal him. “Steve,” Bucky grunted, a sharp stab of pain hitting him when Steve pushed too hard. “Is that frostbite? Tell me the truth.”

 He didn’t have to open his eyes to know Steve was chewing on his bottom lip, eyes heavy and focused. “Stop moving. Please.”

 “ _Steve!”_

 “I need to focus!” Steve pleaded. Bucky acquiesced, squeezing his eyes tighter and pressing his lips together. Another stab of pain flared up from where Steve’s hands worked, kneading the muscles. His bony fists were colder than ice.

 Steve worked in silence for a few minutes, the pain gradually amping up until it was bad enough Bucky wanted to ask him to stop. He didn’t, and Steve didn’t slow down. He just kept working at it, until Bucky was shivering and could barely think from the cold. “Steve…”

 “Almost done,” Steve promised. “Just a little…”

 Bucky gasped, his eyes flying open as a burst of freezing cold shot through him. Steve scrambled back, flushed and breathing hard, but even though he was no longer touching Bucky the cold remained, spreading down his arm in invisible trails of frost. Slowly, the feeling faded. Bucky sat up, carefully rotating his shoulder. It was sore, but it had regained nearly its full range of motion. “Steve… thank you.”

 “Your welcome,” Steve said quickly, sitting back. “I, um. I didn’t want to do that because of the pain and how much magic it takes, but… it should be better now. No more nightly treatments.”

 Bucky nodded, getting up. He purposefully didn’t look at Steve as he walked around the bed, not until he was nearly beside him and he could grab the collar of his shirt. Steve automatically tried to scramble away, but Bucky caught his wrist, pulling him back. He cupped Steve’s face gently, looking over the black mark on his nose. It covered his entire nose, spreading partially onto his cheeks and to the tear duct of one eye. Now that he’d gotten a good grip on Steve, he didn’t try to get away, just staying still, letting Bucky look him over. “This is frostbite,” Bucky noted.

 Steve nodded jerkily. He didn’t make eye contact. “I, uh. I know.”

 Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You _know?”_

“It’s not a big deal!” Steve swore. “It’s just. It’s—”

 Bucky caught a glimpse of black out of the corner of his eye and looked down to where Steve’s gloved hands were rested on his lap. There was a bit of black poking out from one of them.

 Steve’s eyes went wide. “Bucky, no—”

 Bucky took Steve’s hand, not pulling back the glove. He looked at Steve, waiting for permission. “Can I?”

 Steve sunk back on his heels, looking miserable. “Please— it’s not important, it doesn’t matter—”

 “Can I? Please, Steve?”

 Steve looked away, but he offered Bucky both of his hands, a clear signal. Bucky tore the gloves off, revealing Steve’s hands, both nearly completely black. “ _Steve—_ ”

 “It’s not important!”

 “It _looks_ like frostbite. Is this because of your powers?”

 Steve nodded. Bucky waited, but he didn’t give him anything else to work with. “Is it dangerous?”

 Steve scowled. “I can handle it.”

 A wave of grief washed over Bucky. Steve had started wearing the gloves a few days ago. And there were other clothes before that, the socks he would never take off, not even when they—

  _How long had he been hiding this?_

 “ _Stevie,_ ” Bucky whispered, and Steve whimpered. “ _Stevie._ Why didn’t you tell me?”

 “It’s not a big deal,” Steve repeated, all the anger drained away. “There’s other things going on…”

 “Are you in pain?”

 Steve shrugged. “No. The opposite. My nerves are dying— I can’t feel anything with my feet anymore.”

 “Shit. Shit!”

 “I’m sorry!” Steve shot back. “I can’t stop it and you can’t stop it, okay? So there was no point. But now you’re healed, so you don’t need me anymore.”

  _Oh, Stevie. You’ve never been more wrong._

——————————  


**Steve**

 

Bucky stole a truck, and they headed towards Manhattan. They didn’t talk. They didn’t touch. All they did was sit as far apart as possible, staring out their respective windows as the scenery passed before their eyes.

 When they got back into the city, Bucky pulled into a Starbucks parking lot. “I’m not hungry,” Steve moped.

 “Well, I am. Get out.”

 Steve grumbled more, but got out, bringing the blanket wrapped around him inside. It was still nearly not enough. “People are going to stare.”

 “It’s New York. No one cares what your face looks like.”

 Steve cared. Steve cared about his blackened nose, cared about the gloves and the sweatshirts, cared about the way all of his leg hair was falling out wherever the darkness touched. There were speckles on his shoulders, now. There were speckles on his back. He was being consumed from the inside out, and Bucky didn’t even care.

The coffeeshop was mostly empty, which was a small gift. Steve tried to think positive, he really did. It was harder than ever before.

 They went up to the counter, where there was no line. Bucky nudged him. “Decide what you want.”

 “I already told you,” Steve sniffed. “I’m. Not. Hungry.”

 Bucky threw his hands up in exasperation. The barista came over, a pretty young lady, but as soon as she saw them her expression shifted from hyper-friendly to something more forced. “Hi! I’m Mandy, go ahead and decide what you’ll be having and someone will be with you in one moment. It’s time for my break.”

 Bucky grunted, but was distracted by the specialty drinks board. Steve ignored it. He didn’t want sandwiches or scones or sourdough. There wasn’t a tea in the world he would drink right about now.

 The new barista, a man this time, came up to the counter with a warm, friendly smile. He was wearing well-fitting black clothes underneath the cheerful green apron, and though Steve couldn’t see his feet, he knew they were dressed in combat boots.

 “Hey, Soldier,” Rumlow said, cheerful and gruff as ever. “What will you be having today?”

 Bucky moved so fast there truly was no way to actually process it. One moment he was beside Steve, the next he was throwing himself over the counter, metal arm raised to slam down against Rumlow’s skull. Rumlow blocked it with his forearms, and even though the impact from the heavy metal should have been enough to slam past his block, his arms hardly moved. He grinned up at Bucky, despite the screaming around them. “What, you didn’t think I came here completely defenseless, did you?” With that, his arms rippled, the facade of skin shuddering back to show the metal exoskeleton that lay over. The suit built up around him, spreading across his body like a beetle’s shell, and arm gauntlets clicked into place. He tilted his chin up with reverence. “Hydra has been good to its loyalists. I’d suggest you surrender now. Get _down_ , or the boy gets it.”

  
———————

 **Bucky**  


Bucky’s heart pounded, the loudest thing in the room. There was the screaming of café-goers, all running from the building. There was the clicking of Rumlow’s new machinery, new technology sliding into place around his muscled body. None of it— _none of it—_ was as loud as Bucky’s heart beating in his ears.

 And then a bullet clicked into place, and there was something louder. Bucky turned to look, making eye contact with Rollins, who held the gun to Steve’s temple. Steve, with his blanket still around his shoulders. Steve, with his frostbitten face. Steve, who wasn’t even talking to him.

 “Get on the ground,” Rollins threatened. “Or I shoot.”

 Steve looked at him with big, round eyes. _Deer-boy._

_Nymph, actually._

_I love you._

Slowly, Bucky lowered himself to his knees. He raised his hands above him. He couldn’t let Steve get hurt.

 Rumlow chuckled above him. “Smart choice. You’ll see, when you’re back where you belong, how this is—”

 There was a gunshot and Steve screamed in fury. Bucky tackled Rumlow’s legs and he went down, catching Bucky in a leglock that Bucky slipped out of, slamming his fist into Rumlow’s stomach. It made his breathe catch, but the metal exoskeleton hurt Bucky’s hand more than he hurt Rumlow. He grabbed Rumlow’s arms and threw him over his shoulder, and had just enough time to sit up, yelling “Steve!”

 Like the angel of death, Steve threw himself over the pastry case, coming down on Rumlow with Rollin’s gun in his hand. Bucky almost called out to him, telling him _no, don’t do it, it’s not worth it. Don’t ever go there, you can never go back—_ but then Steve landed, as graceful as the creature of nature he _was,_ and slammed the gun— hilt first— against Rumlow’s head. All in all, Steve was in more danger of getting shot than _Rumlow_ was, and Bucky wanted to scream at him, but by that point Steve’s shrill voice was already filling the room. “How dare you touch him, how dare you how dare you—!”

 Rumlow grabbed his foot and Steve went down, but Bucky was there before Rumlow could hurt him. He blocked the blow meant for Steve’s head, defected the shot and slammed Rumlow’s head against the ground hard. He wasn’t knocked out, but Bucky couldn’t hurt him any more than that. Even this small motion was enough to make his biology scream. _No, you don’t hit the handlers, don’t hit the—_

He leapt back over the counter just in time for Rollins to get up. Steve had done something with his blanket, disarming him and then tangling him so thoroughly in the cotton that he’d been subdued while they fought Rumlow, but now he was up. He was too slow, though, and Bucky grabbed him by the waist and threw him over his shoulder. He hit Rumlow and they both toppled down.

 “Steve!” Bucky yelled, and just like that Steve was at his side.

 “Come on, come on!”

 They sprinted out into the street, with Bucky grabbing Steve’s shirt as they made a sharp right. Any anger at each other from before was now gone, replaced by the primordial urge to _escape._ But then there was a sound that made Bucky’s blood go cold.

 “You’re surrounded!” Iron Man commanded through his intercom, lowering himself to the ground with his repulsors. The Falcon soared down, landing to his left, and the Black Widow stepped out of the shadows, blocking the way they’d come. “Winter Soldier, put your hands in the air! Let go of the boy!”

 “God, I’m not a _child,”_ Steve hissed, near silently. “Bucky, how the heck did you get so many enemies?”

 “I regret everything,” Bucky promised.

 The Falcon raised his own guns higher. “Release the hostage!”

 “Oh, I’m a hostage now,” Steve whispered. “I hate stereotypes. Maybe _I’m_ the one holding _you_ hostage, did they ever think of that?”

 Bucky hauled him closer by his shirt, wrapping his flesh arm around his neck like he was planning on choking him. To Steve, he whispered “God, I love you.” And to the Avengers— the people with more skills, powers, and finances than Rumlow and Rollins would ever have— he yelled “Back off, or I’ll snap his neck!”

 The Avengers all looked between each other, taking a hesitant step back. The effect was somewhat ruined by Steve whispering “Oh come on, you’re as scary as a fawn.”

 “Shut up, goat-boy.”

 Steve squawking in indignation. “I am _not—!”_

Bucky hauled him closer, tightening his grip just enough to cut off Steve’s airway. Steve gasped, hands coming up to clutch at his arm. “I’ll kill him,” Bucky growled, trying to let the cruelty of the Winter Soldier fill his brain. “I’ll kill him. I’ll break his neck right here, right now, you know I will! Back the fuck off!”

 “Buck—”

 “Shhh…” Bucky whispered, feeling Steve’s throat convulse against his skin, feeling him choking for air. “Shhh… they’re not going to hurt you. You’re not going to like this next part, but it’ll give us an opening, alright? Then I can take them out, and we can escape.”

 Steve choked, face turning red, but he nodded. Bucky didn’t let himself wait any longer— he picked Steve up and chucked him at Iron Man, then leapt straight up catching onto the edge of the roof of the Starbucks and hauling himself over, Wilson and Romanoff’s bullets just missing him. He raised his metal arm, glad he did when the arrow pierced in between two plates, aimed in a way that should have split his forehead.  Hawkeye stood on the roof across from him, bow still raised. Bucky dropped just as he loosed another arrow, and as soon as he could, Bucky vaulted over to the other roof, swinging at the archer viciously. Hawkeye blocked it, catching Bucky’s neck with his bow, but Bucky just snapped it in half, leaving Clint to go “Aw, bow” before Bucky threw him off the roof.

 Then the Falcon was on him, shooting while his wings flapped wildly, making a vacuum around them. Bucky deflected the first few bullets, then ripped the guns downwards, two bullets implanting themselves deep within the gravel on either side of his head. He growled, and Sam just had enough time to raise his wings before Bucky threw him off the building. Iron Man just barely caught him with his left arm, his right arm already holding Hawkeye up. “Oh, come on!” He yelled. “You can’t just keep throwing people!”

 Iron Man quickly deposited his teammates on the ground, and Bucky took the head start for what it was, sprinting across the roof and leaping over. He overestimated the time the suited man would take, however, and before he was halfway across he could hear the blast of repulsors, feel the heat against his skin. He was slammed off of his trajectory, flying towards the ground at an unfortunate angle and twisting just in time to land with a roll instead of a _SPLAT!_

Right as he started pushing himself to his feet, another blast hit him and sent him careening sideways, searing the hair off his arms. He fell on his back, and the iron-plated man was on top of him, punching down. Bucky caught it, but just barely, pushing back with all his might. It was barely enough to keep his gauntleted hand from slamming into his chest. He just kept _pushing,_ and Bucky screamed, every muscle in his body aching from the strain, when more gunshots rang out. The archer went down, then the Falcon, though it was impossible to say if it was from instinct or because they’d actually been hit. Iron Man was just distracted enough for Bucky to get a leg in between them, kicking him back.

 Rumlow and Rollins were up, standing in the doorway of the cafe, half supporting each other with guns raised. The Widow was in their faces, blocking and punching and fighting. Wait, if Iron Man was standing, the Falcon and Hawkeye were on the ground, and the Widow was fighting them, then who was guarding Steve?

 Iron Man blasted Rumlow half heartedly, partially hitting Natasha, who yelled “I’ve got this!”

 “Jeez, sue me!” Iron Man yelled back. He turned, right as Bucky was leaping onto him, and smacked him to the side with his metal-covered arm. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m not done with you yet. You remember what you did to my last armor? Not cool, man, not cool.”

 “You dropped a building on me!” Bucky yelled, stupidly trying to block a blow. It was so powerful he was thrown back, flipping over in the air and landing on his stomach forcefully. He rolled over, getting to his feet right before Iron Man threw him down again.

 “Maybe,” Iron Man said, unimpressed. “But I won’t be making that mistake again. This time, I’m not giving you any opportunities to escape, to have Hydra dig you out. There will be no reinforcements this time around.”

 He raised his gauntleted hand, the repulsor whirring and glowing blue, ready to shoot him at point blank. It was only when the light changed to a different hue of blue that Bucky realized something was wrong. He stared in horror— then awe, then back to horror— as a thick layer of ice covered the surface of the repulsor, spreading over it and up Iron Man’s arm. Iron Man just had enough time to say “What the—” before his entire suit was engulfed in ice, joints freezing solid.

 Bucky rolled away, getting up and looking over to find Steve, standing with his legs apart, hands raised. He was no longer wearing his gloves, and the mark on his face was gone. “Come on Bucky, we have to—”

 Hawkeye threw something at them, and before Bucky could react, Steve slammed his wrists together and a blast of ice slammed into the object, throwing it off course. Steve shot a blast of ice at Hawkeye and he went down, collapsing into the mound of snow. “Bucky, come on!”

 Bucky didn’t let himself dawdle any longer— he took off, grabbing Steve’s hand and running with him. His skin was freezing, fingertips still blackened, but Bucky didn’t care. He was _safe_. “I thought you refused to use your powers for harm?” He yelled over the wind, snow falling down around them.

 “I didn’t use my powers to hurt!” Steve yelled back. “I used them to _save!_ ”

 The snow around them was falling down harder. They skidded around a corner, barely managing to keep from slipping on the ice. “Is this you?!”

 “I don’t know! Whatever it is, I can’t stop it!”

 From around the building, the Widow leapt at them, hands crackling with electricity. Steve screamed, but before Bucky could step in to defend him the Widow collapsed, a blue frost spreading across her skin at an alarming rate. “Steve!” Bucky yelled, because there was no way this wasn’t him. “Stop, you’re going to hurt someone!”

 “I can’t!” Steve screamed. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t! I can’t control it!”

 They ran across the street, taking a left into a more crowded area, and pedestrians started screaming, dropping like flies as the ice took over. “Steve!”

 “Bucky!” Steve yelled back, tears frozen on his face. His blue face, because the frozen blue had traveled up from his arms to his chest, and on to the rest of his body from there. “Bucky!” Steve cried out again, and Bucky just had enough time to haul him closer before Steve passed out, collapsing in his arms. The snow didn’t stop. The ice spreading around from Steve’s feet didn’t stop. If anything, it grew harder, faster, and Bucky fell to his knees, cradling Steve’s limp body in his arms, flesh and metal.

 “Steve,” he whispered.

 Something blocked out the sun, and the Falcon soared down with wings outstretched like the angel Gabriel. This time, Bucky didn’t try to fight.


	5. Chapter 5

**Steve**

 

When Steve awoke, it took him a few moments to realize what was different. He was on a couch, which was strange since most motels didn’t have couches, but that wasn’t it. Bucky wasn’t there, which was weird, but also not it. No, the weirdness didn’t have anything to do with his surroundings at all. 

 For the first time in days, Steve wasn’t cold. 

 He sat up a little, finding it hard. He was wrapped tightly in blankets, like a giant had found him and gone  _ let’s make this into a burrito _ . His arms were pinned to his sides, and he’d just managed to wiggle them free when across the room, a door slid open and a man walked in. 

 Steve sat back, observing the man. He’d seen him before, but where—?

_ The fight. Rumlow, Rollins. The woman with the electricity. The man with the wings. Bucky.  _

_  Bucky.  _

__ Steve stuck his chin up in challenge. He didn’t know what this man’s game was or why he hated Bucky, but he did know that he was not to be trusted. 

 “Hi,” the man said with a casual smile. “I’m Sam. What’s your name?”

 Steve’s nose twitched, wanting to curl in disgust. How dare this man talk to him like he hadn’t just kidnapped him, like he hadn’t just taken everything from him? Steve didn’t know where he was, but he knew that it wasn’t with Bucky. He must have been at this man’s home base, his evil super villain headquarters.  _ Not to be trusted.  _

__ Sam looked worried for a moment, surveying Steve’s face. “Are you alright? Do you— do you speak?”

 “Where’s Bucky?”

 That seemed to take him aback. He got down on one knee, so he wasn’t looming as much. Steve somehow hated him more for it. “I’m assuming you’re talking about the Winter Soldier. He’s in our custody, don’t worry. Neither he nor the other hydra agents will be escaping anytime soon; you’re safe.”

 Steve huffed, turning his head to the side. “So, what? Am I your prisoner now?”

 Sam looked around the quarters, seeming confused. The room was large with white painted walls. It had a coffee station in one corner, a trickling fountain in the other. Steve could sense a eucalyptus plant somewhere behind him, but he didn’t turn to see. “Um, no,” Sam answered dubiously, “I promise you, this isn’t where we keep our prisoners. I just— is there anything I can get for you? Coffee? Tea?”

 “Why did you take us?” Steve demanded. “We were doing nothing to hurt you!”

 Before he could answer, the door slid open again, and a man Steve hadn’t seen before stepped in. As soon as he opened his mouth though, Steve recognized him as the man with the armor. “We  _ rescued  _ you because the Winter Soldier was hurting  _ you.  _ Which, you’re welcome by the way. So sorry we didn’t let him kill you on the spot.”

 “He would never hurt me,” Steve spat. 

 The man raised an eyebrow. “Alright. Sure. We can talk more about that later. First, I want to know what tech you’re hiding that allowed you to do that ice stuff. Let me guess— glycerin shooters? Acetic acid spray? Come on, I need to know.”

 Steve wrinkled his face, letting his disgust show clearly. “I’m not telling you a  _ thing.  _ Let me see Bucky!”

 

—————————

 

 They didn’t let him see Bucky at first, which didn’t come as much of a surprise.  _ They’re the bad guys,  _ Steve reminded himself. 

 But, after a few hours, he could tell they were getting antsy. Finally, the doors opened and the Sam guy came back in, looking serious. “We’re bringing Bucky in here,” he said, giving Steve a harsh look. “He’s got a device on his wrist that will allow us to inject him with a tranquilizer if anything goes wrong.”

 “Fine,” Steve snapped. 

 Sam stepped aside, acting as a guard as the doors slid open again, and Bucky was lead in. He was escorted by the red-headed woman from earlier, as well as the armoured man, but as soon as he saw Steve he marched past them, striding up to Steve’s couch like he had very, very bad intentions. A shiver ran through Steve’s entire body— but it wasn’t one of fear. 

 Bucky scooped his still-blanketed body up in his arms and sat him on his lap, his arm coming behind Steve’s head to pull him up into a kiss. Steve met him halfway, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s neck and kissing him forcefully, wanting to  _ show  _ their captors just how ‘dangerous’ Bucky could be. 

 Finally, Bucky pulled away, dragging a soft whine from Steve. He looked Steve over with an analyzing gaze, before running a hand through his hair, fingers brushing against his horns. Steve shivered. 

 “You look different,” Bucky whispered. “Can’t say I don’t like it, though.”

 “Different?” Steve repeated. 

 The red-head was the first to react, handing Steve her phone open to the camera app. Steve heard the armoured man go “Nat!”, but she ignored him. 

 Steve looked at himself on the screen, blinking quickly. It… wasn’t what he’d expected. His hair was the biggest change, tinged  _ blue  _ instead of blonde. His horns were bigger too, just barely popping out of his hair. The frostbite on his nose was gone, and his freckles had come back over that area with full force, even thicker than before. 

 Steve looked down at his body, turning his hands over. They were still mottled with blackness, but only in spots. Steve carefully dissected his feet from the cocoon of blankets, kicking them softly against the couch. He could actually  _ feel  _ them. 

 He leaned against Bucky’s chest, and for what felt like the first time all day, exhaled. 

  
  
————————

**Epilogue**

  
  


It didn’t take long after that for everyone to figure out the truth. The Avengers had apparently thought that Bucky was still part of Hydra, and had thought that his involvement in the first place was voluntary. It wasn’t. They also had thought that Steve was with Bucky against his consent, which again, was untrue. They then explained that they were the enemies of Hydra, and actually wanted to help Bucky. Steve couldn’t help but believe them. 

 They were given a temporary apartment in the Avengers tower. Both of them were also given tracking devices that they couldn’t remove, and were forbidden from leaving. This felt impossible until Bucky branched out and discovered the Starbucks on the ground floor, and the garden on the roof. Then it was manageable. 

 Every day, Steve and Bucky were forced to adhere to a schedule, which included various physical and mental tests, lab time, and for some reason, therapy. 

 After a week of this, a few conclusions were made, the most interesting of which being that Steve was no longer dying. There were still black patches on Steve’s skin, but there was no internal damage, and they weren’t spreading at all.  

 Steve was looking in the mirror one night, staring at his black marbled skin and blue tinted hair, when Bucky came up and hugged him from behind. “Hey.”

 “Hey,” Steve said, a little glum. “Do I look weird? I feel like I look weird.”

 “You look like yourself,” Bucky said, rocking them slightly. A little grin appeared on his face. “Actually, you know what you look like? You look like a glacier.”

 Steve punched him, but Bucky just laughed, tilting Steve’s chin up to look in the mirror again. “No, really. Look. You’re blue and black and pale. You look like a glacier. You look like an ice nymph.”

 “Ice nymphs don’t look like glaciers,” Steve teased, but he couldn’t help feeling a little better. 

 Bukcy pressed a kiss to his hair. “This one does.” 

 “Shut up. Sap.”

 “Deer-boy.”

 Steve punched him again, but Bucky was laughing too hard to even pretend to be hurt.

 

 

—————————   
  


 That night, they went to bed together, healthy, safe, and happy. The lights were already off, both of them cuddled up under the blankets, when Steve said, “I think I figured it out. The frostbite— I think it got bad when I was no longer helping people as much as I should have been. The frostbite starts spreading when a nymph isn’t being used to their full potential anymore.” 

 “Steve—” Bucky said, sounding worried, but Steve cut him off. 

 “No, no, not like that. I just— it stopped spreading when I was using my powers to protect you, remember? Fighting— fighting for a noble cause, fighting to  _ protect— _ that’s what cured me.”

 Bucky sighed, pulling Steve closer. “Do you think it could come back?”

 “Maybe. But now I know the cure. All I need to do is find something important, a way I can use my ice powers to save people.” He huffed. “I don’t know how I’ll find anything like that, though.”

 Unbeknownst to him at the time, the answer was already in their apartment, laying on the table with just the title visible under the envelope:  _ The Avengers Initiative. _

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment and let me know what you think!  
>  
> 
>  **Daphneblithe** : Well done DumpsterDiving101 for such hard work and such a sweet adorable story! And thank you also to wonderful RBB mods for the organizing!  
> (I am [on twitter](https://twitter.com/daphneblithe) and I humbly have other work including 21-pieces-of-art (some NSFW) in an eerie Stucky romance, [Love Among the Ruins](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16929495/chapters/39777129))

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Smiling smol Steve (Art for DumpsterDiving101's RBB fic 'Necessary Warmth')](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19419898) by [art_by_daphneblithe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/art_by_daphneblithe/pseuds/art_by_daphneblithe)




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